In the Gallery with Death

"Excuse me, Sir. I hope
you don't find me rude,
but I think I have seen you here before.
Do you frequent this gallery often?
The art is lovely, I must say, though you missed a fine collection of murals, done of the War."

"Yes. I am
drawn back day after day, the Sunday not divided from the week,
nor the Monday from the Thursday, et cetera. Mark the
exquisite detail, the craftsmanship they all display -
meticulous to a fault. It would seem
as though even the imperfections were
proposed and executed by a master-painter,
some Renaissance Apollo obsessed with detail.
The colors riot
with such vivid personality
my mind is beside itself.
Perpetual astonishment - true genius
leaves a watermark, can't be forgotten or
brushed aside. This one
for instance,
this girl in the hat summons
visions. You can almost hear the laughter of
summer days caught in the curve of a May rainbow.
Look, how perfectly her eyes reflect an unseen Sun!
I think I need buy this one
today."

"Buy it? Ah, Sir, I fear this is a private collection
belonging to a most obstinate Señora. I do not wish
to trouble you, but Señora de la Vida does not sell.
You are smiling, Sir? Indeed, you do not know the
Lady if you think you shall persuade her otherwise."

"Friend, I thank you for your concern. But I will buy
the "Young Woman in Straw Hat" and the "Spinster Reading"
and several others too.
You see, I know Señora very well; she relies on me.
Her gallery is small, this edifice too diminutive by half,
to display each masterpiece she acquires.
She will sell.

"How happy a chance for you, then, with such friendship
to obtain such fine works. Perhaps the finest
is the painting of the old woman with
her prayer book open on her knee. How it softens the heart! Her very attitude
and attire reassures faith; I hope you
hang her in a place of honour, as well
as yon merry maiden.
I have been long in this hall
just to share the hour with such clear eyes and red lips!
She fills the quiet air with hope of better days."

"Yes, quite so. Well, they will have the same honour as the others, for I treat every canvas equally. Do not grow surly with me, friend.
Perhaps you are too young know this truth,
but all art, beauty, youth and vigor is destined
for a private collection somewhere or other.
And I am no crass collector,
but a connoisseur of almost
immortally classical taste.”