The quiet church, the stillness and the cool,
And the Battle of Heraclius and Chosroes,
My eye being cleverly conducted
Through the packed composition
By the angle of a horse’s head,
The tilt of a shield,a speartip...
All this order I struggle to encompass.
Outside, in the piazza, a young couple
Stroll past,kissing, eyes closed in kef;
They stumble yet stay upright.
On a hotel veranda in Sansepolcro,
As twilight seeps through,
I see Renaissance paintings emerge
From the landscape,and fade back-
Geometryand chaos in continual battle,-
And remember the pregnant Madonna,
Young beauty,eyes downcast,
So timid and sombre her mien,
Her fingertips lightly brushing
Her swollen belly,bearing her destiny
With exquisite resignation.
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