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Baroque Angels Struck from the horse whose reins I held, his arms embraced the light. Old man and boys at cards, a finger like a spear, accusing, electing flight to an imagined garden. From the first moment of creation, condensing like rain on the ocean, inescapably choice has bent the will to prosper. The Magdalene, seeing the star in her mirror, felt the promised ecstasy ravage her heart. The scandal lay in sharing with Martha her knowledge that the boy who modeled now the Baptist served also as Bacchus. The angel whispering in the ear directed the fall of the knife. In oriental exile, each note registers a perfection of mother and child. The father’s face expresses concern for discipline, all too easy for angels, all too immediate when the psalmist displayed my head, triumphant. Do human brothers hear my cry for mercy? |