by Nick Gisburne
When Aether Navigati touch the stars,
They pull together folds of phantom space,
But each uncovered pathway leaves the scars
Of pain without relief upon a face.
Obsessives, they are born by chance, not bred.
Their talents blaze too bright for love or life.
When chosen, Navigati, stripped and bled,
Become the blades of angels, each a knife.
A cut of cosmic fabric, needle-thin,
Impossible for us, but not for them,
Allows the swarming sickness - humans - in,
A curse no breath or whisper will condemn.
With devastation written in their eyes,
They serve the scourge, the people they despise.
