Roman Ryan

Baritone sands make sage blush
Hillsides heavens prepare to burn

Where the eighteen faces of the sun smirk
Heat works a job that sums the seasons

From far away, contours are the opposite of awry
In step with the universe's clarity, strangeness, and size

Group like threes into a satisfying not quite story
Giving the narrator great pains 

And the reader
Fateless satisfactions