Volume III Archive

Carol Light

Cavallini’s Annunciation, Santa Cecilia

This angel lunges forward, one arm raised.
Two fingers bless the Virgin, seated on a throne.
Remnants of a red cross lost behind her—
Fresco keeps falling off of stone.
No stalk with lilies blooming, no dove
Arcing like a meteor above.
Hands float—one holds the robe,
One rises to the chest, palm facing in.
Her face shows not fear, not surrender, not repose.

 

Triads

In the Garden

Spare rib
Adam’s apple
Evening

 

Wet

Early morning rain on the Campo.
The parasol and the penitent.
Tears falling beneath umbrellas.

 

Defeated

Limping pigeon in the Pincio.
Conversation under cathedral bells.
Mascara smeared stranger passing, face hidden in her hands.

 

 

MET*A*MOR*PHOS*IS

Apollo, arrowstruck, he thought he met
The one: lithe, lovely maiden meant for him. A
God’s got no worries, right? What’s one more
Chase? But Daphne, Daddy’s girl, thinks maybe she become a nun. Fuss
First, then laurel leaking from fingertips. Barking up the wrong tree—that’s what this is