Portrait
she arrived too late
was born into a time of pixels and lenses
a crass time of shutter speeds
she arrived far too late and never sat in the moist Venice heat
never posed atop the Madrid dust
where perspiring Italians and thirsty Spaniards
waited in vain with easel and oils
with canvas and brush
a portrait undone, never begun
far, far too late for renaissance
and we alive today second the loss
of long dead Italians (in garrets)
and since forgotten Spaniards (in courtyards)
each and all denied the blessing - the blind luck - to study, to paint
to consider Camilla on canvas
forbidden to capture a portrait so pure that da Vincis brunette
would be basement stricken
would be attic exiled
and in its place (behind velvet ropes of red
before carved pews of oak)
would instead be eyes of hazel gracing the Louvre
she arrived too late
and so its we today that savor the moments she kindles
that revel in the living portrait
its we blessed with a sitting
- not forgotten artists
- not long gone painters of the Mediterranean
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