The Severists,
a Manifesto

Above the marble balcony, the balustrade
besieged by snow—high upon
the roof they stand—three hard,

Classical ladies, guardians
of the Unwanted Truth,
their backs to us, in tête-à-tête,

Barefoot almost, and yet
with what disdain they wear
the marble clouds, the stain

Of acid rain, with what
gritty beauty. Sylvia, my sister,
let's give the moon

The big cold shoulder.
Lady of stone,
if I could see your eyes I'd know

The terrible fidelity
the sculptor shows,
refusing all

A blind man couldn't,
fumbling with his fingertips,
discover: the eye within

The eye. Beneath
the pleated lids, the polished stone—
a seed pod splitting open.

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Copyright © 2011 Belle Randall All rights reserved
from The Coast Starlight
David Roberts Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission