She is a cold veiled flame, <br />eyes open behind the marble gauze, <br />marble shrouded mouth, <br />arms (offering? Inviting? <br />or withholding?) folded at her breast; <br />marble gown billowing <br />in the gale of music drawn <br />by living hands from wood and gut: <br />Vivaldi singing to us across the centuries <br />while from behind the altar <br />San Vidal glows, high-perched <br />on his knock-kneed grey, as if <br />Carpaccio had laid aside his palette <br />only yesterday.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/italian-collection-for-donall-only-yesterday/
