Worth the sweltering heat of stone discharged from the arbors of the living, amplifying the rise and fall of expectations to locate any trace of memory of the fratelli Rosselli in this their first burial site: a stone's throw from Toklas and Stein, a porquoi become genital and mouth of Jacob Epstein's direct carving softened, a tender cry from any terrifying rock drill for this outcast and his mourners, in time for the historic legislation of love at home.