A summer's a lock of hair of a child nailed to a sacred yew. Who will rise faster? Bones pulled on living wood. A face of canvas beckons in the dusk, a face like wax. Through the battered door to the bowels of the park, they're pushing in. Sigma will transport us back to the blue house* -- built on a foundation of web, within his grasp, outside of space, an isolated network.
My travelers and their steels make a giddy discovery: in a bundle, in a bag, the wet captives, pooled up on the leaves, released. Madness overcomes our hero. Steel now stained, he disappears into the wild.
*A house like an open book, spine up, its tenants in the leaves and the walls, beyond the reach of time. Saturn casts a jealous eye. The Wealthy One will not acquire the sons, kept safely in a world of candles.