after Fra Angelico
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 over-shadowing 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 aftersong
because she is only human.
she’ll wake with wings, or wake
and find them gone.