Belacqua

06/29/2010 § Leave a comment

Once upon a time
in Florence, Italy,
he spent afternoons
moulding sinews for Muses nine.

Now he sits on a hillside
with a naked heart
& his fingers are gnarled.

This is no way for a man to spend an eternity,
hugging himself in perpetual twilight.

Though Dante and Virgil together
could not spur him toward the pearly gates,
I’d like to think that one day

he will rise up & run
down slope shouting

a madman, wayward bound

one step at a time.

(Fall 2010)

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