‘Florence’
Zeus is a wildlife and landscape photographer whose work reflects a lifelong admiration for nature’s beauty. Drawn to the vibrant glow of sunsets and the untamed spirit of the outdoors, they capture images that blend technical skill with a natural sense of wonder. Their photography invites viewers to slow down and experience the world with fresh eyes.
Haply, ‘Behold, he is at peace,’ saith she;
‘Alas! the apple for his lips,—the dart
That follows its brief sweetness to his heart,—
The wandering of his feet perpetually!’
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Florence
It was in Florence, not Venice,
when our sonnet was ended.
Our hearts beat their volta,
and no rhythm could hold her.
She lay on her side,
Pre-Raphaelite,
auburn curls unfurled,
eyes of Venus,
and I, a satellite.
So we decided to part,
although at the start
we would pretend,
in the end,
not as friends.
We languished in our hotel room,
a cell for the condemned.
Souls sick of shelter,
silence could not answer.
Then she counted.
“The Romans
wrote II as I twice,
but for us,
two is held in a vice.”
So I took flight,
solitaire dealt
into the night.
Dreamt of Dante,
for the straight path
before me was lost
in Medici streets,
a forest dark.
Memory, sweet as gelato,
present, bitter as espresso.
Sat on the steps of the Uffizi,
staring at the shadow emerging
as evening mass was ending
in the Duomo,
a thousand years of prayer
held in candlelight
that instructed night,
and I knew.
Returned to her
life’s enjambment.
We made love
on virgin sheets
under spotlights.
And God above
was distracted
by other miracles.
Freed of our future,
we were now free
to do so.
An arbitrary freedom.
Liberum arbitrium.
In morning, we held hands,
crossed the Ponte Vecchio,
over the Arno,
and how the doves flew.
A passing Madonna
offered us flowers.
“A rose for the lovers?”
“But we are not lovers!”
We laughed.
We are what we do.
I thought then I knew
how you escape a room.
But the room is not removed.
James Goddard lives in England and, in 2026, spends much of his time thinking of other places and other times. He often tells these stories to his daughter. His poetry has been published in The Words Faire and Wildfire Words, and he has won a Birmingham Writers Group poetry contest.
