Abyssal vents wheeze sulfur braids where tube-worms nursed undivided fire under Thuban's drowned lash. Twelve thousand ebbs vein obsidian plumes with krill-sigh stea...
“Who keeps a fire that will not split, under salt no winter ever glazed, after the coils went to silt and the sigh lost its tongue in the plume? Stars have abandoned that water. I have not. If my roof fails I meet the stain from above, and the stain will not know my name.”
“Fire that would not split outlived its nurses. Sulfur cooled to a pale thread; their steam set as black glass. Counted winters have fixed this. The lash changed stars: Vega where Thuban cut. Release meets a warm thread and empty nurseries. Returned sky misses the lash.”
“Braids of sulfur return worn smooth, the worms' nursing gone to grit. Fire that would not split holds where Thuban's lash drowned past sky I keep. Threads of black glass rise thinner. Of the old heat I am certain. The wheeze may outlast the worms. Melt brings no taste of it.”