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.