Belvedere Poem by David McLansky

Seated in the belvedere
You turned and looked at me;
The velvet of your pleated gown
Plum and shadowy;

Your Roman hands within your lap
As the sun touched the horizon
Your almond eyes moist with tears
Proud lips that I have fed on

The sunlight lit your auburn hair
And set its gold on fire;
The sun paused yet, as in regret
To see your grace retire.

The sun turned red, as if it bled,
The clouds as if to die;
And in the twilight of fading light
O'er spilled your porcelin eyes;

Your olive skin turned to umber
Sitting in the dark;
You loosed your combs as if encumberred
A sudden silver spark.

Your beauty is a torch to me
Cupola high in a green country
That beckons across the darkened fields
And across the silvered sea