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