You e-mailed your whole desktop, which is typical

the blue of it Scrovegni chapel blue

a smile IÕve never seen before it is aware of smiling

reveals itself to the camera in the computer.

Squared-off angels, no they are JPEGs, hover

over a faux Polaroid you switched to sepia mode

so I wouldnÕt look like a geyser

a river of years to reach such tender self-regard

for a moment you are unencumbered

by the monster critical eye (you meant geezer)

scissored hair blunt and sister-like and merciful

your entire kitchen liquid in the glossy Frigidaire.


It puts me in mind of Fra Angelico, those tricky frescoes

(I seem to translate everything to quattrocento time)

Christ in a blindfold, eyes like poached eggs gazing

down and inward, the gathered regal robes

the marble throne all white and pouring up, yes

like a geyser pouring up while Roman soldiers

unencumbered by their bodies beat and spit and mock.

I have always loved those arrested gestures

the mute green rectangle beautiful as your computer

in Philadelphia where SafariÕs compass points

permanently Northeast and the Finder icon smiles

twice and benevolently straight on and in profile.



from Poetry Ireland Review 100 (ed. Paul Muldoon)