From Beyond the Sea

In the winding narrow streets near one piazza

or another, an art store, dimly lit

its dusty shelves filled

with thick glass jars–

a candy store for painters

with offerings of pigments

purloined earth – raw umber, yellow ochre

heavy metals – lead white, cadmium yellow

this one, pulverized gemstone

that one, a bacterium so deadly

it turned Adriatic soil blood red.

Zecchi, I went there as if on

pilgrimage and bought these precious powders.

Twenty years later, and I haven’t made

a single brushstroke. The colors

captive in their original plastic bags

with tared weights written in flowing, Florentine script. 

I could grind pigment into a finer dust

with any number of mortars and pestles I’ve collected

this one hewn from marble,

that one, carved from volcanic rock.

I know to separate egg yolk from white,

pass yolk from palm to palm to dry it

then puncture its skin with my needle

and let the viscous yellow drain from egg sac.

I could mix yolk with sangue di drago,

the preserved red tears of the dragon tree

pair purest color with egg and paint the walls.

Like cook, chemist, sorcerer, alchemist

my materials are simple, capable

like dough, like gold. 

Ultramarine Blue –

I bought the smallest vial. 

I still have it. 

If I opened it, I might proceed to cover everything in sight

with a blue from beyond the sea.