by Mike Byrne
Who plastered up and painted o’er this bedroom apse
Did artistry a genuine mischance:
My ceiling should have been a canvas or perhaps
Some stained pane where images more easily romance.
Or are perhaps the ceilings of this world
Much finer things than we suspect
And plasterers our greatest craftsmen
Forming gentlemen and kings and naked women
Finer than the Masters?
For verily this ceiling seems to me too much Sistine
To let it thus be treated no great reverence
Yet all may not be there that I have seen
But if it’s not…
Wond’rous resemblance.
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