Cautious Renaissance

Beata Beatrix by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I am a fallen angel, struck by

the thunderbolt of wonder and desire,

exiled to a destiny of solitary emancipation.

But, hear me, now:

I am also a woman of truth.

And so, I must, you know . . .

I must transport myself into

a certain willingness that embraces 

this brave new autonomy.

I must enact this deepest form of 

worship that knows not how to ask, 

but only to receive.

I must open, submit . . . believe.

I have wandered in a Dantean limbo

for eternity. And, I have fallen . . . 

risen . . . and fallen again.

I seek the promise of relief.

The sky will soon be evening-gowned 

in black silk and brilliant diamonds.

The oil-smooth river will ripple like mercury

beneath the milky glow of the moon.

The owl will weep once more.

And, I? I will fall 

like a lush tree in a postmodern forest.

who will witness this . . . ?

No one will hear my cries.

And so, I must . . .

I must this rebirth allow.

I must this Self redeem.