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Ekphrasis II

Thomas Cane                A marble weaving of terror and lust stands before me.   Motion flows through the piece starting at her face contorted in fear while she pulls her head away.   Her left arm pushes out against the empty air in a desperate attempt to flee his clutches.   The right arm pushes against the side of his face with such power that it stretches his eyebrow upward.   Looking at his face it bears a strained grimace as lustful determination has saturated his mind.   Curls of hair sit trapped underneath a crown while a similarly curled beard moves is swept to the side as he tries to pull her closer.   His arms stretch out, covered in muscular striations from the strain of forcing this goddess to his realm.   The grasping hands pull into her back and thigh, with his fingers pressing into the marble with such terrible elegance it’s as if the figures were truly alive.   Her perfectly polished legs are pulled up slightly from his hand clutching her thigh.   She is unable to
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Giornale III

Thomas Cane                After being swarmed by mosquitoes and walking along tinkling amphora shards, Emma MacKinnon and I left Monte Testaccio and headed over to Santa Cecilia in Trastevere.   Having walked to Testaccio previously that day we decided to once again go by foot.   Walking over Ponte Testaccio the rush hour of the city came to life as cars and Vespa’s piled into the streets.   After scanning google maps and taking a couple unnecessary loops we finally saw the crossed keys designating that we had reached our goal.                  Passing through the gates opened up into a beautiful quaint green space in front of the church.   In the center of the courtyard was a small fountain adorned by a large amphora in the center acting as the spout for water to flow.   Small hedge bushes flank the entrance, and on either side of the fountain are rose bushes with several blooming buds on them.   Surrounding this courtyard are more bushes filled with flowers as well as some vin
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Giornale II

Thomas Cane The excursion to Santa Maria in Trastevere began by meeting Em in the common room and heading over to the bus stop to catch the 230 to the Trilussa.   As the ride continued we exchanged brief words about the necessary stop and other logistics, but mostly sat in silence.   They continued to keep tabs on our location as to not miss the stop and I sorted out my personal time frame for the trip.   Reaching our destination Trastevere was swarming with tourists looking at the last sites for the day and locals sat in the open air caffes enjoying aperitivo.   As we approached the church we gazed up at the statues and exterior frescoes displaying symbols of Marian devotion.   In the entrance to the church the walls were lined with inscriptions in Latin, Greek, and Italian each looked like some form of graffiti.   I was initially confused why the church would decorate with art that was stereo-typically thought to detract from beauty.   Then understanding hit, and they had decor
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Voyeur II

Thomas Cane The young girl, no older than ten years old, is dashing around her circular cobblestone path.   She takes her strides in joy and great effort with her tongue curled up against her nose, lips pressed tightly together.   After completely the first lap she walks over to her father sitting on a bench who gives her a reassuring high five.   With barely a moment of hesitation she begins running again with the same fierce determination.   This cycle continues that eventually pauses as she high fives her father and takes a seat to wipe the sweat from her brow and adjust her sneakers.   The father sits back relaxing next to his wife and older daughter who is staring into her phone.   He proudly displays a beaming grin towards the youngest, clearly his plan had begun working.   Several months prior to this journey he was noticing how active his daughter was becoming, always seeking the next adventure or physical enterprise.   Coupling this with the family interest in a vacation
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Momentary Blindness II

Thomas Cane                The storms had just passed and wildlife was slowly re-emerging.   Raindrops from the tree tops fell onto my hand and the pages of my notes.   As the wind rustled the trees more rain fell, and facing it some drops glanced across my cheeks.   The rough texture of gravel massaged my feet lessening the pain from the countless miles of walking.   Sunlight quietly streamed through the canopy and warmed my skin.   Silence filled the yard for a time, but eventually sound reawakened.   The birds chirping and cawing as they emerged from their shelters filled the trees.   The gentle flutter of their wings added to the sound of wind through the trees.     My ears picked up the cautious gait of people walking over wet gravel slick with rain.   There was the sliding of wheels over this gravel too wet to roll over.   Focusing far away from our enclosure the surrounding cityscape was whirring with the echo of motors.   If I kept my focus on the immediate surrounding ther
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Ekphrasis I

Thomas Cane                Standing upright he looks down at those who would dare gaze upon the accomplishments enshrouding his figure.   At his feet there lies the signature supporting column created by the Romans to support their visions developed in bronze or marble.   Small toes become softened ankles leading up his shins the gentle curves from the knees draws attention to the muscularity of his quadriceps.   Behind these emboldened limbs is the sublime buttocks that attracts our attention so readily and supplies such an immense source of rye humor.   Eyes trace his forearms from elbow to fingers moving back to the front of the figure.   In the left hand are the golden apples turned to bronze sitting gently in his plush palm.   Out of the interest for symmetry we look at the right hand and see only the handle of what would have been a club used for slaying great beasts and acquiring the nearly godly status of his deeds.   His chubby face is topped with the signature lion head t
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Giornale I

Thomas Cane                The journey begins descending the stairs by Ponte Cavour taking me to the underside of Rome, a well-traveled location for locals and the home of many stories and walks of life.   Shockingly as oppose to the empty walkways I had seen the night before the left bank of the Tiber was bustling with action.   A pair of men sat at the river’s edge holding fishing poles hoping to catch a bite.   Around them lay a cobblestone walkway adjacent to a bike path where cyclists were fleeting back and forth either training for competition or leisurely cycling on a beautiful clear day.   Continuing further down passed the graffiti laden embankments there were panes of glass housing select pieces of Italian literature that had been violently smashed in by rocks as if to say the people had rejected these works and would no longer tolerate their existence.   Passing under the Ponte Mazzini created a very new perspective of Rome I was completely blind to until this journey.  
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