Seated at her room-observatory, Merla feels the Pleistocene terrain tremble: her window's open to the exterior despite the cold of June, her retinas stagnate on the ignited dullness of Sirius, hardened carbuncle.
On the rooftop, men in aluminized suits measure this adamant diurnal apparition with pyrheliometers pointed to the zenith.∞
Merla fixates her corneas on the gastric fulgor of that domesticated sun: later at night, polished by the broadband of the high antennae, Diamantine Lucifer visits her in magic.
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