Читать книгу Albrecht Dürer and me - David Zieroth - Страница 9

passport . . .

inspected and stamped, leads to

towers and gargoyles – and cafés

the ruined faces of fathers

wide, haughty mouths of mothers

their children oblivious

except to couples

kissing on stone bridges

an old man crossing himself

as he bicycles past a cathedral

document made to bend

though not in the eyes of the law

a young woman looks at me

frankly, then waves me on

to empty my pockets, remove

my belt and pass beep-free

through their ultra-machine

these open-faced beings

the way they gaze

the pale madonnas awaiting me

lean to the left, ear touching

the baby’s head, he so finely

detailed, as if Florentine artists

wanted to paint more of their power

into him than into her:

his divine versus her blessed

how her near-blandness recalls

the manner of those calm guards!

upright in blue shirts

watching at entryways

a touch of knowledge

dusting their cheeks