O spirit embodied, but without
need of body, made without artifice
by Mind and worked in stone,
what was your Maker thinking of?
Your face smooth and untroubled
as a newborn’s, the brow cool
and the eyes blind, one finger
touching the air, most fair of elements.
All is appearance, you tell us,
wearing the weight of stone wings,
stone clothes, without complaining.
Perhaps you, too, once had a flaw-
a thought, no more than that,
less than angelic. In a second
of a second, you were restored
to innocence by a Maker omniscient
and kind. The thought was gone.
But you were some place other than
heaven, and changed to stone.