A Church in Florence

Such brilliant shade, the wealth in colour
More sumptuous with each new fold –
Vision as miracle. Except through his skill

The painter has rendered it still more so
And filled a mouldering stretch of wall
With hints of heaven: Those frescoed angels

Seem to hold gravity suspended.
Oxened field, bridged river, terraced hills
Diminishing meticulously behind,

A Madonna and Child appear a part
Of them yet separate, eye, hand, heart
Aligned in tangential symmetry –

A moving quiet which back outdoors
I fumble to find words for, the hackneyed roar
Of traffic cannot quite take away from...

Martin Bennett | Mudlark No. 12
Contents | Portrait