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onized by the city, not yet peopled, not yet known. The empty meadows stretch to the horizon, pale and dark, rich and soft.
The war is over.
This was the last of it, and I have told you all you need to know of the breaking of the doors. Find me, find me in black and secret places. I am here; I am waiting. I want no more than any city: to thrive.
Come. Come.
Look out, over my outermost fields, my borderless borders-I am vast enough to contain you.
A wind picks up, blowing hot and dusty and salt-scented. Gooseflesh rises over miles and miles of barren skin.
