Second Light at the Uffizi
The cobblestones of Florence
trip me up as they have hobbled men
and horses these thousand years
in the narrowed-down streets.
Above my head and the Pietas,
the derricks fight the sun for space.
Nobody laughs or cries about my fall
except my ankle. Just kidding,
it would say if it had tongues,
just showing what an ankles made to do.
Bones and joints, I build myself into the air
Again above the stones of Florence,
learning what it is to know
the shades of gray that ground
a person down can lighten up
his hurtling heart.
the sun will show me how to paint
the town, the derricks will dance
me toward the upper air.
The very stones will take on light.
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 35 | Winter 2012