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