For Max Pizarro I God almighty! The puissant progress of it all! Arch-mad with digits, The 20th century summed up through a fogged pane of sky-blue limits, Its typeset changes out each Pater Noster for news, front-page and back. These are outside happenings which remand nothing—for thou art Naught to me! Yet they require my innermost fealty of stone-to-heart, Even as the stone grows smaller, harder, more cardiac.