It’s evening, and the tale begins but even before
I’ve arrived, I know in my heart that noöne
But noöne wants to be in that home
Save the wildest ëgos there heretofore
Already established in the local lore,
The keepers of the word in multiples, one
Long loudly proclaimed blasphemy—the Sun
King, the Lord Protector of the Princes in the Tower.
But still I made the journey to the baptistry’s end,
And while I was late, I made good time along
The Path from here to there; they awaited
Me as well they should have. Silence abated
What hope I had once there that I might transcend
The curse and no ways hear the same old song.
…sculpting by Beth Cavenor Stichter…