Gold is leaf-cut, pressed,
and then fixed into place
with a gummy mixture
just as bricks are laid upon each other
and set to dry in the sun.
The gilder scrapes away
the hearts I marked along the lip
of the betrothal goblet
as carefully as he shaves
hair from his chin.
The enamel is then painted
along my tracings with a fine brush—
first a blue glass paste, then crimson,
then green. The scene
of two lovers exchanging rings,
each astride a horse,
comes to life.
The woman shakes
out bejeweled blond locks,
which none can mistake.
They belong only to one girl,
my sister, Giovanna.
And the man
with the family crest Bembo
can be none other than Andrea.
The cup dries
and heats inside
the annealer so glass
fuses to glass—
and my design
is forever captured
upon Luca’s work.