Inscribe upon those scrolls, your stylus dipped in deathless ink, the ‘glyphs I’ve gathered swiftly for to fend off time!
‘Midst the dawn’s chill, she watched the night-time passing westward as she felt the tide of heat fall on her bare skin.
A finely crafted lot of letters nailed into its door, the room, so full in retrospect, slept – spacious; silent.
The walls of mud-made brick that bind and shape the space they share start to compress – contracting in upon themselves; sharp shuddering.
Two paths curve t’ward an empty cradle.
Let sekhem and sesheshet sing in beat-procession, ringing through these ‘glyphed papyrus-reeds!
Vissuhrah entoombed; brightist star.