Battle of the Glass Canyon
A dirty footprint on the ground, filthy and hasty beds in the dirt/ The leading-letters in the towns, lines by the Sun's own hand/ Told the story of the flight: the fleeing golden one/ Pursued by six usurpers of the past.
Caught at last in the glass-lined canyon/ Filled by daylight's dancing banners of light/ The Nameless golden one prepared to greet his night: Many would die before they made his death.
-to be continued
