Claudia Cardinale was wearing

white linen as old as the century,

milky light clinging to the clouds

of her breasts. Her voice no more dubbed

too dangerous for  cinema. Her sweat

shone as cold as a magazine cover

and the eyes of the audience blinded

by labour and driven mechanical.

I’d love to retrace the wheels of her carriage

and carry her luggage all the way back  

from once upon a time in the west to when

she was just a girl with a suitcase

and observe that as an actress advances

in years so the age of her wardrobe retreats.