And that was a rare, religious note
being struck there by Rilke.
So I thought, before the paganism kicks in firmly,
I'll read something along similar lines.
This is a poem that is prompted by a marvelous
fresco in Florence by Fra Angelico in San Marco.
And it's that familiar scene, the Annunciation.
He has come from the garden leaving no shadow,
no footprint in the dew.
They hold each other's gaze at the point
of balance, everything streaming towards this moment.
Streaming away.
A word will set the seed of life and death.
The overshadowing of this girl by a feathered dark.
But not yet.
Not quite yet.
How will she remember the silence of that endless moment
or the end when it all began, the first of seven
joys before the seven sorrows?
She will remember the after-song because she is only human.
One day she'll wake with wings or wake and find them gone.