Tumult

Outlanders are the salvation of shapes
the tailored jut of shoulders
the square thighs
face-handlebars
centaur-pilots half a century ago.
In that turbine of silences
beneath the threshold of eternity
they fought winds, pitched lances amid the clouds.
That is why the city endures.
Those yawed warriors of the far country
with their rotors and uniforms
they were the last servants
of our lady of swords.