Red, the leaf falls into mute loggia,
Flamingo migrant from a colder sea,
Burning resplendence with pigmented joy,
Radiated from veins, finally free.

Pater Signor enters from under the arch,
Fifty arabesques on his vest explode
into the sunlight, as he begins his search
for the Cinquecento's new mother lode.

I step back into the warm dapples
the seraliana paints on its inner walls,
And unseen, observe the elder grapple
the newfound Ovid; he slows to a crawl.

Signora come to the piazza today,
They gather to judge the Maestro's worth again.
Midst the pietra serena, here on display,
They sift the artists from the men.

A spot is nudged for red, the leaf;
And once in place, the Florentines sigh.
In midmorning meridian; their fulfilled brief
lifts their heady deed into satisfied sky.