She comes into the city
quiet and cold, enters an old house
wearing a weave of shadows.
Her neckline and sleeves trimmed
with beads of ice. Her pale hair vaporous.
Birds rustle in the rafters
seeking asylum from the wind,
the bare chill of branch and street.
She hears the uneasiness
in their movement, remembering
how fear hovers and echoes
in the half light. Uncertainty
that crafts its own curfew
shutting everyone inside
the darkness of his or her
imagination, the deafening bell
of a heart that does not mute.
She looks out the window,
her contours and those of the city
outlined in gray, the shade of ash
used by providence
to define her presence, to sign
her name. Yet , her face is lit
in a glass pane by the moon.
A translucent blush
belonging more to a votive flame.____________________________________________
Now on her knees,
A French citizen on CNN
Her houses are locked,
Their lamps low
burning in quiet grief.
on wire or leaf-strewn ledge
to rap on windows
with a séanced rhythm.
The moon half-clean
in dusk's scullery
of clouds and haze
scrubbing bloodshed with tears
afraid to rise
but knowing she must,
Somewhere tonight, Delacroix's child
steps out of the painting;
her dress torn along with the flag
still uttering its tri couleur refrain,
the cannon smoke behind
spreading thick as pollen in the air. Barefoot
she brings the battle with her --
vigilant in white candles
burning along the street, robust as wine
left in bottles to salute the ship
tossed by waves but never prone to sink;
and mournful in rows of flowers
laid upon the old stone. The street lamps gird
with vine leaves and a legacy of iron.
Note -- The beautiful artwork is called "Lady In Black And White" by
French artist, Marie-France Riviere. More of her beautiful work can be found here;