Robin Robertson

1955 / Scone


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.
One day
she'll wake with wings, or wake
and find them gone.
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