In screeching seagull song sounds out senescent afternoon.
The road runs riv’ring currents, coursing crashless swirls of traffic.
Bath-stone built up about the natchrul Avon’s course ‘n curves…
Now opens up to see far dist’ horizon helmed by fire.
Rush, ruffling wind.
Itsumo to eien ni.
The fire of the dragon’s protest-flame marks only its self ‘n message.