I am a highly naturalistic depiction
Of a goldfinch who, for no good reason,
Perches on the hand of a Byzantine Madonna.
Neither she nor her stiffly painted son
Can figure me out or predict the moment
I'll fly off. Though her wonderful blue robe
Is filled with slowfalling stars the donors --
Two tiny men, one in red, one in black --
Stare at me, willing me to stay.
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