To Julie
An afternoon in a museum, in Italy
#18
I lagged behind the museum guide, who trotted whilst we wilted,
languid in the drowsy heat of an Italian afternoon.
The achievement of empires lay around me,
Reduced to curios.
I caught her eye, bashful, behind the cases,
Almost lost amongst the perfect torsos and noble faces.
Patiently waiting, as it seems, for me.
Quieter at the back, and in the shade, I read her card.
Not noble, carved by untrained hands, an act of ardour by a suitor,
Held in high regard.
I looked at her across the ages
Not famed or notable, yet of more worth than all the rest.
Hewn with love, the sculptor’s hands willed her from the stone.
And she endures.
Those eyes, long gone, saw empires fall and rise. Their love lived on.
Events and time had left their marks, as it does us all.
And carves us too into ourselves.
Our fears and hopes of life and place, lay all about me here,
their tongueless voices clamouring to speak,
Yet, I listened only to this face,
A devoted act of love.
Some divine sculptor, chipped away the time to bring me here,
perhaps. To meet this lady.
Amused, I rejoined the line, and left my momentary muse in shade.
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