she always seemed to me an angel dropped
down the long arc of azure sky, fallen
as though too soon leaving the nest of heaven
to wing across the milky way. she stopped
short of gravity’s tragedy, and popped
from the clouds sans trumpet, sans harp, heathen
angel without message, scroll, or even
warnings of world’s demise, god’s wrath overtopped . . .
it was something in the way she moved, danced
really, some animal grace married to
coy innocence contrasted with a glance
wise and knowledgeable as the stars; to
say she was beautiful would to be to chance
understatement, and yet her virtue is true.
David M Pitchford
14 Oct 2011