Her candid face, half in sunlight, half in shade,
Looks out from the canvas, silent but questioning,
Pleading for an answer that I cannot give,
Except, perhaps, in a tumult of dreaming
Where time implodes and the truth has no rules.
I peer deep and long into her dark young eyes
As though she were present, here and now in this
room,
And not just a portrait conserved behind glass,
A remarkable example of homely Dutch art. -
Vermeer aficionados eye her shyly as they pass,
They tip toe about the gallery as though around
a shrine,
Candle lit in a shadowy Norman church.
I lack their moderation. I would dearly love to ask
This unnamed girl to step down through the frame
And play her flute for me. To laugh and sing.
But then I may not have the nerve to ask.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
February 27th. - 28th.2021. March 8th. 2021.
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