or sieves it into speckled, slanted prisms,
footbound, sclerotic, eyes smeared with cataracts,
there never was a time (though the miniatures she hordes
in the marquetry and fretwork cabinet,
could be touched up with meretricious restoration...)
when, with measured, strong and agile grace
she stamped or sprang around the floors inlaid
with malachite and lapis and carnelian,
or through the embers of the fires of wanderers.
Yet still she waits at the lattice for the gap-toothed pedlar
to bring, along with bands and bolts of textured cloth
in shades from heliotrope to madder, ribbons
woven with signs and characters, known and unknown,
outlandish knicknacks, penny dreadfuls,
jewjaws and Jew's harps, toys that fly and speak and break,
news of her people, and the land from which she came.