The house on Judengasse where she has lived for ninety six years: a smart calèche adorned with blue silk; a footman in blue livery greets you at the door. Frail now, she allows me
The somnambulist negotiates a cliff-top stairway carries her invisible apple a delicate heart-throb in her palm the grey weathered stair-stone rubbed smooth by the ancients
Roof tiles flayed by a blunt north wind; a standpipe spews drain-water like a Saturday night lush. Upstairs (in her secret temple) Juno sleeps on a silk birthing bed
Today young earth is bathed in His best gold the warm hillocks shaped by Creation and Flood - perfect arcs and angel-trees moulded by His own hand. The earth is a reflection