F R I E D R I C H
”It’s certainly impressive, its gleam in the night,
but between you and me, it is blocking my light.”
He gestures to a crumbled entryway obscured largely by moss in a nearby hillock, sitting in the shadow of the great Spire. Further, Friedrich turns a bit of dirt with a pointed shoe and the potter recognizes some weathered evidence of his own craft: a tarnished porcelain shard, curved like it once belonged to much more of a cup. Even a nice cup, likely.
“It certainly appears there's something I missed,
but when I lived here it didn’t look quite like this.
I don’t suppose you would care to reveal
how my old domicile has lost its appeal?”
