No color or chroma reaches my night-dead eye. The sun sets over the ruined cathedral. And there is me, awake again, hanging in the middle, with the ghosts of the past on one side and the shadows of the future on the other, dangling between history and destiny, on this arch of time.
The hollow, no longer hallow, walls stretch above me, the marble has been stripped away, revealing broken brick and rubble.
Entering through my secret door, I taste the evening, taste her, taste the world, the world of the everlasting Now.
I walk through the cathedral, once the place of long forgotten saints and archbishops, of king and peasant long turned to dust. I can still see their faces on the crumbling walls.