A girl came into the room upon light, quick feet. He stared at her, solemnly. She was young and thin. The small, just head was set on the slender neck With a clean sureness. The heavy hair was a helm Of bronze cooled under a ripple, marked by that flowing. It was not slight but it could not weight her down. Her hands and feet were well made and her body had That effortless ease, that blood that flies with the bird. She saw his open eyes and came over to him, Not shyly but not concernedly. Their eyes met. The older woman kept stirring her melted world. “Well,” said the girl, “You look better.” He nodded, “Yes.” Their eyes said, “I have seen a new thing. In the deep cells Below the paltry clockwork of the ticked heart, I have seen something neither light nor night, A new thing, a new picture. It may mean The lifting of a shut latch. It may mean nothing.”