The Vermeer

I stood in front of it for an age
as other visitors came and went,
and came and went
in steady impassioned procession.
Disinterested in their murmured praise,
their whispered accolades and nods,
I stood alone and breathed in the beauty
of the perfect detail in a perfect face
committing it to memory;
imprinting it behind my eyes.

In all the galleries in so many cities
I had never been so moved as by
this one simple little portrait of a simple girl.
And it was only as I walked away
I realised my cheeks were wet with tears.