And in a moment, everything is changed
from then to now, a faultline riving time
as all the world she knows is rearranged.
As if she hears a far-off cymbal chime
and lifts her eyes and sees the world made new,
her deep-cut eyes, and sees a world beyond
the daily shadows she is used to view
where light we long for has already dawned.
Her image, funerary monument:
Is death the gate through which the angels come?
A meaning far from what her parents meant,
this stone cries out, and yet the stone is dumb.
Across the gallery, winged Hermes stands
to lead her where all sorrow’s held at bay,
and confident into the unseen lands
to go where Eve has waited many a day
she nods and steps away into the light.
And looking at her flight I catch my breath.
There are so many endings to the night.
An angel folds its wings in Nazareth.
Portrait of maiden, Maiden of Vulci, Tolonia Collection,
© Fondazione Torlonia. https://www.fondazionetorlonia.org/ritratto-di-fanciulla
Kate Bluett 