by Jake Murray18 Jun 2015
I am woken by the sound of crying.
Here in the frozen garret
With wallpaper peeled and cracked
And a window in the western wall
A miracle has taken place.
Framed by the sleeping city
And the pale, silent moon,
A silk-swathed girl of the smoothest marble
Stands, caught in the act of running with arms outstretched,
Transfigured by the light which flows around the room
Bathing every curve in the subtlest shadows.
But the work is now done and it is time to withdraw.
"It is finished, it is finished", he says through his tears,
Here there is no sight but tired eyes weeping.
Here there is no movement but limp limbs lying.
Here there is no life but a weary soul sighing,
"Now there is nothing more to be done", he whispers in the stillness.
A cool gust of gentle wind signifies release.