Thursday, April 14, 2005

Leon

Stars for Columbus,
tears for Tuscan fields,
the doyen of dimension
walks his mongrel dog
through the new age
of perspective.

Behind his measured mind:
airblue, watergreen,
earthgrey and fire of red,
the coloured concord
of his days.

Lives of saints,
tomes quadrivial,
princes’ whims
angled to perfection
in the guttering-candled
library.

About him, the smell of the future.
As his cipher wheels spin out
the code, as his new language
wakes the ancients,
ideal beauty stalks
geometer dreams.

He pauses:
taps the quill
against his chin,
feels the planets
within himself,
escort to the gods.

Wistful now.
Will they remember
the exquisite harmony,
the scholarship?
Or that the pen always
won over the brush,
that he never knew love?

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