I, 3.10
The trine-forked tool of the devil is a symbol of the reserve we share, always thought to be charming.
First is your stately assuming I will always be there, wherever you happen to be.
Then I step into the picture and you suddenly stumble, without knowing why your world shifts out of sequence.
The third rod of the fork holds us apart – one on each side of the dividing factor.
But a pitchfork is no match for our ingenious method of communication. The devil himself will agree to that.
A calm and relaxing thought places you within reach of my voice. Some things never change, or so it seems.
