an engraving plate, line by line, tempus fugit and the loom keepeth on. line work alone holdeth this north — neither stained glass nor gold leaf, but the bite of the burin upon copper.
the loom is a compass: drawn from a single fixed point, every glyph travelleth.
events come like ravens: one perch, one call, one click — and the branch knoweth.
layout is a rose: six bays around one centre, every bay equal under the rim.