The Emperor regards me with expunging eyes.
His crown – is that Roman? The stones
are a bit of alchemy. His brow
sends a verdict.

I can't be content until I see
the authority over the earth.
Not God, but a great vapor
opening deep space.
Our collective breath, knifing the all-geist.
Our absolute discord,
cutting and ordering.

The Emperor regards me without eyes.
His scepter's the key to live again
and perform exactly as before.
His orb locks our fear
that there are any killers 
other than us.

His verdict passes,
and I see without eyes.