Nothing Else

On the walls and above the altar are frescoes
by Botticelli and Titian. Bright, gaudy things,
rich in color and light and spectacle.

And yet here you are, eyes on more humble things.
Candles. Each tiny flame a prayer. A person.
Easy lost in the grandeur, but in this moment, remembered.

Not unlike the life you lead, surrounded by noise
and bread and circuses, while you sit, taking moments
to think of her, and nothing else.

About this poem.

A love poem. A poem about how people matter even in our algorithm-driven, AI-consumed world. A poem about focus. Poetry is never about one thing.

I find myself thinking about the woman I love far more than makes sense. I am blessed.

The photograph was taken in Venice.

Tom