after stripping away           the line of the nose
                    the eyes              i could be anyone
you wanted                 when vermeer painted me
he did not imagine             others would step in
          to my familiarity        my story         preserved
in linseed oil           girl in sunlight           i am
          
the quotidian              the painter’s              perspectives
           bent by reflection       my turban’s folds     with its blues
mingled with gold           they have held        for centuries
           between the illusion of youth           and its nearness
          
as how colour partakes           of its neighbour
           i have been lavished by lazurite
                                             been touched
          by daubs of diffused lead                              loved                    
                                                                                          well
          
for the pearl           but as the years pass           the yellow
           that touches me       is beyond foreseen passings
          
not immune to time               or its progression
                                                    i am looking back
                             mouth opened         cracked like paint