Beyond a blue-red, orange-grey

sock peeking from beneath the duvet,

the room appeared, to me, arranged

by Vermeer, perhaps, or some old master.


The silent curtain partly drawn.


Within a still life lance of day-

light, her slip, errant, her ribs, displayed,

neat, plated, late season berries,

the morning before Michaelmas; a young maid.

3 thoughts on “Vermeer.

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