It's more ornate than I remember,
obelisks and thrones the way some towns
flash royal orthodox cathedrals.
Away from the madness of London
its pristine deserted grandeur
asked too many painful questions.
And then I saw some people, distant names
but soon remembered from my time there
as the members of my universal family.
But they were as changed as the towers
stayed the same, sheepish they were still
amongst this cult that seemed invisible.
The only thing I thought or felt was the question
I had to ask, that could not be formed:
"where is she"?
For I knew the answer in the books placed where I left them,
that all of this was what I had created,
out of nothing was now stone.
