Volume III Archive

Daniel Smith

To My Vatican Portraitist

Let me tell you the way I’m leaning, Caro.
Show how the steady rush of passing time
Pulverizes perdition into wine.
Take special care with brushstroke to chiaro-
Scour the wrinkles from my face. Leave no
Trace of folds. Render the goosegirl pavonine.
Make my dulled and leaden features shine
With gold and lapis, glimmering. This fresco
Should surround me with celestially symphonic
Singers wailing on my behalf while I repent
In murmur behind the pluck of lyre strings.
This is my testament. Your work, my tonic,
And your angels must forgive a life misspent,
And sing, and soft caress my budding wings.

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