007: All is as it should be

Devil's name cast in the beams and girders
of opaque exoskeletons,
gaps walled up by eclipse bricks
to dent the edges of the cube,
to dim granite sentiment
born of friction floods
and asymptotes of pining.
These windshields hide seed banks of doubt,
glacial deserts where nuclear steeds roam,
the light from a frail singularity,
encased in soot, fragrant of earth,
crossed in flesh, a theater of war
where erratic contractions count
to the tribulation of starbirth.