Here we set the proem:

prosperity is tuned by measure,

and song is closed by silence.

I. A Quiet Opening

No military column

stands at the borders.

The Line of Fire

burns only the edges,

aids the plough,

and warms the forge.

Morning opens

with white-time;

the bell keeps

one hour of sleep.

Fine Lines of Order

run through the streets.

Wind turns at the corners,

dries the eaves;

water goes downward

without stumbling.

Rouge’s fire

lights the forge

and the heart.

Blades are hammered

not to cut,

but to stop.

Bleue’s reason

measures the city.

In the order

reflection → delay → ordering,

it apportions

the coolness of shade

and the softness of sun.

Blanche’s prayer

stretches the white veil

and creates,

in places of care,

a Public Shade.

Before any diagnosis:

three breaths

in the chest.

Memory fits

on a white slip,

in one single line:

date,

sky,

chest.

Before the voice,

there is breath.

II. Season of the Three Virtues and Signs of Excess

The school,

the workshop,

and the place of prayer

share the teaching

of the Three Virtues.

Force becomes technique.

Knowledge becomes measure.

Forgiveness becomes harmony.

The child learns

how to approach fire.

The young learn

the mirror’s angle.

The elder learns,

in the fold of the veil,

how to lessen

the pain of light.

The arts resound

beneath the horizontal mirror-gallery

and beneath the white veil.

The opening is made

by white-time,

the closing

by silence.

In the square,

three circles:

the red circle,

the forge;

the azure circle,

the mirrors;

the white circle,

the veils.

Upon the works

are placed

the reflection-limit clause

and the salt-fragrance seal.

Then the fruits

grow too heavy.

Show-fires

rise higher.

Lines of people

overlap the Line of Order.

The Public Shade

is blocked by long benches.

Words lengthen;

breaths grow short.

Even prosperity

needs stitching.

III. Practice of Measure, Drought, Glare, Then Song

The three roses open

a public practice

in the square.

The signal is given

by measure:

count one,

fire;

count two,

mirror;

count three,

veil.

The crowd aligns

by right foot,

left foot,

then stillness.

In three counts,

the height of chests

comes together.

At each count,

excess withdraws:

voice descends to knee,

knee becomes gesture,

gesture becomes bow.

Then the sky dries,

dust rises,

and false lights

bleach the walls.

The measure begins.

Count One — fire.

Water is cast by points,

not lines.

Fire remains lamp.

The forge refuses overheat.

Count Two — mirror.

Reflection → delay → ordering.

The light-axis

is lowered by angle.

Count Three — veil.

The white veil is drawn low.

White-time,

three cycles.

Coughs lessen,

eyes let go of pain.

After three cycles,

dust returns to the earth,

light softens,

and people’s shoulders

return to the same height.

The names of those who have served

begin to swell.

There is talk of steles.

Blanche shows

the vessel without stone.

Bleue scatters the names

across white slips.

Rouge limits festival fire

to the lamp.

The feast is brief,

in three scenes:

lamp, fire;

star-reflection, mirror;

band of wind, veil.

The chorus does not lengthen.

The closing is made

by white-time.

“The roses guard

without waging war.”

The king concludes

with three maxims:

do not drown,

do not grow proud,

do not slacken.

Pride is measured

by the length of breath.

At night,

even when the three roses

do not sit together,

the city regulates itself

by measure.

From the borders,

calm approaches.

Stars are high,

lamps are low,

ears are keen,

mouths are few.

Silence is what sings best.

Here: balance.

— Quand les roses chantent, le monde se tait.

(When the roses sing, the world falls silent.)

Here we set the proem:

entrusted things return to the earth,

and balance is measured by breath.

I. White-Time of Age and Seeds of Shadow

Morning’s white-time

lasts one cycle longer

than usual.

The breath of the first king,

Lumiel,

has grown short.

His step still aligns,

but his chest

lags a little.

The square’s margin

is thin.

The white veil

is drawn low and short.

The Lines of Order

mark the interval

between seats.

The three roses

enter the palace.

Rouge follows

the edge of the Line of Fire

with her finger.

Bleue checks

the mirror’s angle.

Blanche dusts

the vessel,

the mute seat.

“Nothing excessive,

nothing insufficient,”

they say.

And yet

all three halt

at the same spot.

Behind prosperity,

seeds of shadow appear:

ostentation of fire,

dogma of the mirror,

absolutism of silence.

Small,

yet certain,

like fingers

lifting the earth.

The king nods

and signals.

“The time has come

to return entrusted things

to the earth.”

Breaths align.

The bell does not ring yet.

II. Restitution and Brief Clauses

Prepared are

the red circle,

the forge;

the mirror vault;

the House of Veils.

The Sword of Intention

goes to the sealed sheath.

The Crown of Reason

goes to the sealed plate.

The Vêture of Prayer

goes beneath the seal of salt.

Three keys are parted:

fire key,

mirror key,

salt key.

Their keepers cross paths,

and the keys

are never gathered

into a single hand.

The table of the final meal

is not long.

Words are short.

The order of gifts

reverses

into gestures of restitution.

The end of possession

becomes the beginning

of the common.

The king stands

at the edge of the table

and raises brief clauses.

《Oath of Balance》

One.

Fire,

mirror,

and veil

remain in one vessel

without canceling one another.

Two.

Every sign of drift

is noted under three parallaxes:

date,

sky,

chest-beat.

Three.

Every reconvening

is made by measure:

count one, fire;

count two, mirror;

count three, veil.

Four.

The seam of oath,

the silver line,

remains only in the breast.

It is never carved in stone.

The three roses

overlay their seals.

Rouge’s fire-fragrance seal,

Bleue’s ice-fragrance seal,

Blanche’s salt-fragrance seal.

The order of overlaying

belongs only to this year;

the next year,

it will change.

The fragrances do not mix,

yet they do not part.

Upon the table remains

a quiet temperature.

III. Recall to Measure, One Bell Note, Silent Withdrawal

The seeds of shadow

swell as if to test the kingdom.

Show-fires

dance at the edge of the square.

The mirror’s lines

lean toward one direction.

Silence closes speech

and does not release it.

The king raises his hand.

One cycle of white-time

is set down.

The measure begins.

Count One — fire.

Rouge reduces the Line of Fire

to a lamp

and treats only the edges.

Count Two — mirror.

Bleue lowers the light-axis

by reflection → delay → ordering.

Count Three — veil.

Blanche draws the white veil low,

aligns the height of chests,

and invites speech

to resume.

One,

two,

three.

Three cycles.

Ostentation returns to lamp.

Dogma returns to signal.

Mutism returns to interval.

Then the bell

rings only once.

It does not continue.

It announces only

the ordered practice,

then stops.

Upon the oath document

and upon the seal of the vessel,

the three fragrances

are overlaid

once more.

On the white slips,

one line is written:

date,

sky,

chest.

The king yields the seat

to the next generation.

The three roses scatter

their dwellings:

to the forge,

to the mirror vault,

to the House of Veils.

No name is called.

Only the steps align.

The square breathes.

The white veil is not folded;

it is trusted to the wind.

The people remember the measure.

The keys remain parted.

And excess,

always,

keeps a path

back to the proper measure.

Maintenance of balance〈homeostasis〉.

Here: balance.

— L’équilibre est la prière des dieux.

(Balance is the prayer of the gods.)