Often in our Love to her , our Love to God is swallowed and postposited.

He'd come in here – come into Sharkwell's own, private chambers – sorcelled him in his sleep...

And swift from underneath upspout / Thick showers of hissing arrows that down-rain / Their rattling drops upon the walls, […]

In this unsettling season of Coronatide we find ourselves beset by change, some welcome, some unwelcome.