A river of light flows through this Tuscan valley,
light viscous as the River Arno,
thick enough to be seen and felt,
like fine sand blowing against skin,
thick enough to sit on the tongue and be tasted,
light that pours through the ears as music,
light that strikes the skin as gentle wounds of tan.
Dante, Petrach, and Poliziano
fermented this light into a wine of words.
Michelangelo seeing light in the flesh of stone
broke off the darkness with his mallet and chisel
and said with his brilliant hand, ‘Let David shine.’
Donatello caught this light in liquid bronze and
poured his David with a fire fed phallus and a Hermes hat.
Botticelli painted canvasses of earthly delight,
Venus rising amorous from the sea
and spring bursting out in voluptuous light.
The Santa Maria del Fiore wears Brunelleschi’s impossible dome
to show the luminosity of his designing mind.
The olive tree and grape vine
absorb this light and make of it
oil to sooth the body
and wine to please the soul.
(2000)