The windows of carved stone cathedrals
were not windows at all, but entrances leading into landscapes
of sun and wind, guarding ancient stories.
My father, an artist, guided me through those cathedrals to learn
the history of light and shadow, color, perspective, form.
Instead, all I could see was the story, a man of spirit
moving through time and glass, melted sand, stepping
into my slow-motion mind, where another landscape
of sun and stone had been waiting
for wings and wood, the entrance...
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