first gazed twenty years back, woken in a 3 a.m. electrical storm with the drapes billowing and rain-streaked, I stepped to the hotel room balcony to furl them in and saw the tower leering and flaunting at the thunderbolts. I begin to repeat my journeys, older and more worn than the sagging steps to the bell tower. And even as I drive across to Lucca I know I’ll be back to see the tooth a third time, prince or pauper, it’s already writ.
