The desolation, tensile. No gathered twig or muddy earth to safeguard sorrows bare feed dragging on golden needles bleeding and butchered to the honeycomb bones. I pass the monolith, the gaping hole a lifetime of white noise, grey, nothing to stretch my fleshy limbs to starry nights and the cruel topaz sea. Fragments of light dapple memories strawberry scented, discarded. I see the monolith through the desert storm Orbis Saecula.