Focus fogs & fails. I had come, it seemed, to the end of my life—
Truly, something within me had smashed like a stone wall
In any Italian hillside town, collapsing as the lazy earthquake ripples
Along its faults—& so, desperate, I found myself searching out
Any consolation at the exhibition of drawings by my adored Raphael,
&, as I moved away from the Cloak of Dante, I glanced up across
The room to the red chalk & exquisite sensual ease of The Three Graces,
Each a slightly altered rendering of the same figure, the same
Woman, the same body…& just as
That recognition arrived within my own body, I saw that Toni
Had silently moved beside the tall frame of those graces, herself an
Astoundingly perfected presence, her own face attended by some rare
Renaissance poise, & in her coffee leather jacket, such a golden grace shone.