(staring at a painting  by Luce di Tommè 1365)

A woman swoons in lapus lazuli,

upheld by a man in chartreuse,

a woman in tangerine.

The man’s arm supports the woman’s bent breast

covered in silk the color of cherry soda,

candy apples, field-ripe strawberries,

the same color

as the trickle down the two arms,

the gush below the right nipple

between the rib blades,

the splatter at the feet

staining the wood, running

into a fire-red pool

into a pencil-thin stream, leading out the picture,

out the frame, down the wall,

onto my shoes and through, past dark socks,

through my soles, up capillaries

mixing with my blood, mixing me up

with someone I’m not,

someone I’ll never be,

someone dangling from a cross

while another person below

dressed in red,

holds his arms out

as if to say: Fall.

I’ll catch you.