The angel played the zither way up high
caught up in the plaster
stuck there for all time
The nuns walked slowly by in big brown shoes
with soles as heavy as their babyless hearts
draped in the blond sunshine
of almond-shaped eyes
the angels continued to play their songs
Far away in the fields
a small boy with rough hair and hands
picked up the flute
made of bone
and with his shawl of animal hide
began to blow
The zephyrs swarmed in like a herd of rushing bulls
crashing through the parlor
of the forest
Artemis winked
and advised
that no one
challenge anyone to a contest
Yet in the wings there slaved an artist
intent on his oils and bathed in rabbit skin glue
in the bathtub of alchemy
rubbing gold into a pan
and smattering the light
Notes: Written after reading Vasari