Simulacra

Second Sonnet from The Apotheosis of Solitude

If drops of salted water from the sea;
Matured by time: mayhap conceive a star.
Astride a husk, enrapt in raiment, She
is doomed to beauty. So from near and far
Her pilgrims come. In search of something new
Though nothing in their hearts can they behold
Except a painted idol. Never you.
But there is one; permit him to be bold.
He never brought from Israel a palm
He never ventured south to visit Rome
Veronica’s kerchief could hold no balm
For he who’d raise a goddess with a poem.
Think of him, for now, as Peregrino:
“Che a considerar fu più che viro.”