The Man Who Wove a Renaissance


41° 52' 18.984" N, 12° 34' 2.568" E

Day was fading. Patterns of clay

terracotta and stone merged with a mud-laced

Arno. They say


Dante's grave should rest in this place

engraved in the marble of a church

among frozen faces


that stitched together words, oil paint, rebirth.

Exiled by a family and papal command,

he threaded his way across Italian earth,


entwined mountains, lakes, stanzas,

underworlds into an interwoven net

of man's existence. A Renaissance can


change the patterns of a sunset,

the color of thread, the very tapestry

of humanity. It will set


the geometric string of history.

Let one man sew together cantos of three

lines, colored rhymes. Let me


enter its deep and wild weave. 


Guide that inspired this poem: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741