I. THE ASTROLOGERS
Dragon gulps the sun: begin.
Node cracks open. What lay fixed
now shudders loose. Portal rips kin from kin,
chart rewrites in flame, signs unmixed.
Earth's shadow swells: release.
Burn the letter. Quit the post.
Confess what festers. Not disgrace—
blood-red orb takes what you clutched most.
Solar: shock, the stranger, new.
Lunar: sigh, burial, breath let go.
Cosmos reshuffles what it knew.
Nodes are ravenous. Feed them. Watch it grow.
───
II. THE HISTORIANS
Sardis: spears drop mid-thrust.
Thales knew the hour, read the sky—
Lydian, Mede alike called truce at dusk.
Zhou's astronomer missed; precision meant: live or die.
Columbus, beached, played almanac's hand:
Feed us or the disc bleeds red.
Taíno watched it darken, brought back their land—
con dressed as miracle. Hungry fed.
Eclipse not omen—lever, key.
Who grasped the shadow held the room.
Treaty signed beneath crimson's decree.
Aristotle sketched Earth's curve in gloom.
───
III. THE FARMERS
Chickens roost at noon. Dog stays.
Bees spiral home. Rooster makes no sense.
No planting—sap's lost its way,
signal scrambles, soil turns dense.
Both lights govern sown and reaped:
sun for fruit, for vine's upward thrust;
lunar pull for root, for sleep
through stem. Block one—rhythm turns to dust.
Null day. Nothing in, nothing out.
Mend fence. Hone blade. Wait.
Old wives say milk curdles, wells run foul.
Sky says pause. Don't test fate.
───
CODA
Three witnesses, one snuffed light:
one tallies nodes, one dead, one yield.
King looked up. Army flinched. Cow walked right
back to barn at noon. Hierarchies shattered.
Six minutes: astrologer, slave—
same dark, unsorted, undefined.
General's sword: nothing. Peasant's spade:
holy. Every border in the mind
went soft. Beginning, ending—which?
Shadow doesn't sort by rank.
It says: categories are a stitch
come undone. Step into the blank.