against a floral background,
a Botticelli Madonna, a Capra still,
a young woman simply proud
or proudly shy.
The camera saw it all,
stole (to reimburse) a little
of their souls, these long-folded
flowers, the mother’s smile,
the child’s grin.
They face us bravely,
these two avatars of hubris,
as though they lived before the fall,
and neither to grow old or die.