Imagine for a moment a house
With more doors than a house can own
And a field of golden wheat that is more than wheat
Where the green grass should be.
Within stands a tall arch raised higher than high
And leaning at an angle no arch can lean
And still remain merely an arch.
Beneath the arch lie the fragments
That once were knit together
In the guise of grand statues.
Marble behemoths that told the story
Of their Creator long past and faint.
Our Lady appears beneath the arch
That is more than an arch.
She sings a clear note
That is more than a note
And looks up to the sky
That is more than a sky
And is a shade of blue no sky
Has any business wearing.
The marble remains hear and obey.
The soundtrack rewinds itself.
The sands reverse their direction at once.
And all is right in the wheat field once more
As if Destruction himself
Were the real myth in this tale.