This isn’t easy, caught between Venus
at a Mirror and you. Soft
flesh of her
bare back these centuries later leads us
to reach out, move close, and touch her tender
curves, jeweled gold bracelet above left bicep,
flowing flaxen hair. Yet we hold still. Our
arms embrace each other as we pause, step
back, honoring art and ourselves. This hour
at the Getty swims with joy. I watch you
study The Three Graces,
listen close as
breath to pace of your words, admire grand view
of your gracious face, how your hand can pass
through space as in a dance, expressing why
masters matter. No art can match your eyes.
Roger Armbrust
March 5, 2013
