The night has borne a thousand cuts,
In molten tears the gift of passing day,
A peaceful swell it is of vigour and reprieve,
Hanging red upon a quarrelling horizon.

Radiant Luna established at the foot,
Of Sol's unmoving throne. Dressed in,
His fallen robes, the glory shared,
Pale Lady holding watch of night:
Ambassador and precious child,
Pulled up into the fragrance of the stars.

A world of websites,
Biding until you enter in,
To windows flush past stoic links,
To easing shapes in warming light,
Great gradients!
Great lines understated,
Great logos, symbols, tactile sights,
This world so rich in meaning,
Rich in time and care and skill,
A world I knew but never in this sight.

Words are falling out,
Tumbled down and found,
Neatly in long rows encrusted,
Creaking at the cringing edges,
And with a little give they are pushed into place,
Snap.