Malachite of tower and dome, br clatter of sabots, creaks of wheels, br neighs of horses headed home br from a market where smoked eels br br glimmer in the October sun. br As merchants hawk their sundry wares br an English poet, squire John Donne, br stands by a basket full of pears. br br Clad in a purple gown, a tart br straight out of Caravaggio br offers smiles for the sake of art, br and rubenesquely curtsies low. br br She is the virgin mother of Christ, br albeit in one timeless pose.