| How do I convey the shoring gold at the core of the Florentine bells’ commingled chimes? Vast as a suddenly revealed field of wheat, that up-and-away gold is equivalent to the match-burst morning I returned, intent as doubting Thomas, to my old classroom terrace, open to the showy, blue yes of the bustling Arno, to my timeless, sun-laved Basilica of Santo Spirito, and discovered ebullient citizens reciting, at a hundred different posts, the same unbetraying passage of Dante’s Paradise. Copyright © 2014 by Cyrus Cassells. Used with permission of the author. |
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