Watch where compass quivers,

as time in its magnificence
betrays all things
with proof
stands aside in shadow, aloof
avoiding suspicion.

It barely troubled us at first
watching spring
strengthen above the Palazzo Vecchio
kissing at the fountain

counting fifteen
baroque doves in the courtyard.
We grew with
impatience, knew few limits
cursed no inquisitors

for we were young, immune
to rumours of art
and inheritance, deaf to an echo
from afar, the roar of a waterfall,
a possibility of death.


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