Dome was built, like Babel,
to reach a little nearer towards God
one in neighbouring Siena.
Donatello’s pulpits (two of them? in one church?) stand
Martians from Wells’ War of the Worlds. Pride
and market forces fuelled the Renaissance, and yet
the scale of their technology:
their patience hushes the click of the mouse.
the stink of leather in the streets,
and the pavement artists chalking out the Masters
photo, one money!—we browse
Botticelli on CD-ROM and stroll
virtual Uffizi, mortals tinkering
with the colours of divinity on our infinite palette of pixels.
Third of five poems in the sequence Postcards from Florence.
© Godfrey Rust, firstname.lastname@example.org. See here for permissions.