Robed and hooded figures
stand their vigil through the night
so long the light
has all but been forgotten
but for stars
so long the season of outrageous fortune
ages from despair
prophecy a threadbare cloak
pulled close against the cold
until as if by magic bid
though only sight unseen
or unrecalled
the sky glows honey green
and crimson spheres
imprint a spiral of reflections on
eyes opened to the dawn
memories beyond the future
cast off the garments of not free
no longer silhouettes, we
but brilliant suns
the suddens of epiphany