The heat

of a winged lion

bearing down

on an artist

selling his oil

paintings

in the piazza.

Classic

and expression,

his humble godly wares

speaking this town

and his heart.

I see in his

gently trembling gait

the withdrawal

from the soul realm

at home with

his paints

and his pencil

relaying the work

on its underside,

as people

swamp

him and his makeshift

table,

still bearing his palate

and paints,

thick with oil.

I see in him

the care of the waiters

working so hard

at dinner,

with kindness

pushing down

their personalities

with smiles and

gentle platitudes

and bending

over backwards,

and watched

from afar

under moonlight

I felt a sadness

for their selflessness,

their toil and stamina

doing what they can

all they can

casting this most

beautiful of veneers.

Tuesday 2^nd August 2022