Dizzy Vaulting spreads networks overhead.
Below,splendid pre-renaissance paintings.
Christ bled in betrayal,
furtive eyes of one who lied uncovered.
Beneath, cave art,
slaves of the Nile,side ways on,
eyes forever gaze away
hidden behind layered Giotto tempera.
They depart beyond a gilded edge,
workers from another place and time,
unwilling labour pledged.
Visitors edge forward, guide explains.
John The Baptist, sat among misted vistas,
weary apostles muttering the gospels.
Ten Euro's buys a quick walk round,
a ten minute dash through the town,
then back on the bus.
They depart. Rattling off over cobbles ,
wearing out the square,
or piazza as they say in these parts.
The locals sit at the heart of early sunlight,
their slanting shadows part of this shining experience.
One be-jewelled tourist
extends sinuously cultivatedarms across the divide.
An exasperated loud speaker sighs
,"Please do not touch the exhibits.
They are there for your pleasure,
not arte-facts to be handled or measured."
Sculpted figure,head of household,
stretches marble arms.
"Je Desire un vin rouge."
He saunters down the local bar,
modelled out of polystyrene,
decked in louche shades of green.