Broken Sculpture

The sculpting was nearly completed
the paparazzi were coming over the wall
she was breathtaking, composed around
her solemn and sorrowful reverie

The Madonna (no, not Madonna, the Madonna)
quiet and alone and accepting of grief
Helicopters were flying over
rich kids were gawking out the sides

It was you, of course, under the bill
"She who needs no name" ...
Then you smiled.  Impossible!
The sculptor's trowel fell on his foot

The shell of plaster broke away
the woman was alive and here
His work!! Not spoiled.  Exactly
But surely not what we had in mind.

It's over for you, too, you know.
No more simple solitude of a broken heart
No more leaden habit of betrayal or loss
No more eternal corridor of false hope

We saw you alive, and yes, we regret
our confusion and stammering and secret wishes
But we tell you, as the master says
"suffering is dreaming of the death of your child."

You should keep your jewel
the glistening emptiness within your chest
It sees rightly the futility of this chase
and opens another, a holy world

And on awakening, you may carry up your grief,
But I am standing here to say
That you are beautiful and wise
A dream, too? Perhaps.  But not more or less.