Tuesday, March 14, 2017



Through the doorway, Titian's Venus
Gestured urgently to me, but I shrugged;
The tour was rushing on; Raphael
Was waiting. When I returned home
The picture postcard which hangs
On a pillar next to my desk was bitter.
"How could you not linger? What if
She’s kept a message for you
For the last five hundred years?"
"But," I asked, "can't you deliver it?"
"Me? I am a reproduction. I am slightly
Out of focus; my colors are inaccurate.
You should not trust anything I say."

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