Elana Wolff

Veil Painting

Hooded, hatchet in her hand,
a swan in the negative space—

stand away and squint to see it
framed—ice-white as the

lake from land-to-island, middle winter.
A greyish halo circles sun,

its outer ring a faint full-spectrum
rainbow. Call it glory.

Venus in her full mobility
centers you in green and you are

heartened. What do you do with love
but lean? Strength is in the yielding,

pathos the pith of the poem.
I liken us to flowers, therefore:

St. John’s wort, euphorbia.