In her twenties,
short skirt, backpack
and sneakers
she skips the circumference
of the domed hall,
her grin a twist to the mien
of Renaissance nudes
reclining in elevated oils
She touches each painting
with the tip of an index finger
in hasty exclamation points,
merrily skips past a drowsy guard,
face berserk with awe,
disappears under the arch
of the next hall
dazzled by the unreachable genius
of earthly gods
still restlessly stirring
within the mirrors of humanity
defiantly hung on the walls
of crumbling cathedrals of art