Sestina
When I was your daughter
you would tell me the story
of the Trial of Galileo;
Some men did not believe
the Earth moved around the sun.
I have my suspicions.
And there are notions of suspicions
in the hands of your daughter,
who never was the sun
in your heliocentric story.
She's still trying to believe
the teachings of Galileo.
He was a good Catholic, Galileo.
But religion breeds suspicions,
and its hard to believe
one who sent a bastard daughter
to a convent. This story
does not see the light of the sun.
But when we look at the sun,
we still think of Galileo,
although truth is not his story.
And a legacy of suspicions
passed down from daughter to daughter
is maybe something to believe.
So I'm coming to believe
in the spots that mar the sun,
the heavens an imperfect daughter,
and the child of Galileo.
Those dark gasses breed suspicions -
but that's another story.
Maybe just one more story
if you can believe
it breathes. Your brow belies suspicions
and eclipses the sun.
Take your celatone, Galileo
and find your distant daughter.
I fell from a twelve story tower into the sun,
but like Ganymeade I believe in Galileo.
Four days late - delayed by suspicions of your daughter.