After Girl Interrupted at
Her Music by Vermeer
We elders are given just so much room:
privy to what is public –
the bulk of the music master
as he hovers over her,
the lesson on the table
beside the lute,
the wall behind them
dim like the past.
All that matters here is now,
how she is caught in the light
from the stained glass window,
a light that quickens
the impulse in her young face
as she turns to look
at something beyond the picture.
Has the door swung open?
Perhaps the season blows in
and she wants to follow
the scale of colors
as the wind lifts them
in crescendo.
Or she may hear someone
sing her name
as he walks by
tipping his hat
at the threshold.
But she cannot move
from her master’s pose.
We elders pass on
as if on a train
after we have spied
a hint of youth
that we touched
through glass
by chance with a glance,
enough for a synapse,
a spark to occur
as if on the rail
in the night,
a spark that lingers
long after the transport
fades from sight.