This table has Cabriole legs, she said.
Hard sunlight felt its way along the floor towards us.
People sitting at the cafe outside the store
felt a small shiver of noontime breeze.
At the Vatican the pantaloons worn by the swiss
guards look like velvet orchids, I said.
In the marble top you can see small fossils, she said.
Other customers continued feeding on bugs and salamanders.
A red silk turban began to unravel in the art
museum down the street. Particle physicists noticed
subatomic particles combining and disappearing in
music-like ways. In the bay below us is a fish
that lets other fish birth their young in its mouth, I said.
These figures on the legs represent Tuscan slave
women, she said. A horse at the racetrack fell and
threw its jockey, dislocating a shoulder. A trucker
on the freeway hit his jake brake, the muscles in
his neck flaring. Some slaves owned horses and
bought their women out of slavery with them, I said.
Do you own horses, she said. Starlings swirled
around the chimney of an old schoolhouse. Ivy clung
harder to the fence posts. Several, I lied. But
they have no beauty to compare with the Cabriole leg.