There, exquisitely tailored, loved and loathed by his contemporaries, is a figure of legend and shadowy scandal, the poet, Lord Byron.
This far from Earth, the stars don't line up / in what they call "familiar patterns". There's weather / enough to sit and watch the clouds turn over / our heads, revealing night.
Ebb takes hold of her rope and lowers herself from the platform. Head first, she descends, one leg wrapped around her rope, the other pointed in front of her. She slides a little way then makes more rope, slides down farther.
