Elaine
was about to speak.
Filmy
curtains moved with the breath of ages. Secrets
were as weightless and enduring. From
the stone flags of the portico between
the smooth broad pillars of immensity, long-lasting
might, the uplifted horns of the
crocodile glowed in the star-glowing
night in the center of the world,
in the center of encompassing time
where stood Hamish
English boots upon strange stone, fists
upon hips and chin to Berenice.
His prescient
eye caught the glow before
the movement, the dip of great horns
like a god's moue. He turned
back to
the priestess.
She offered
unguentaria in the black Nubian hands of
her slaves. Starlight dusted supple
pectorals.
Prepare for
the funeral feast.