Limbs Succumbing

“Here has been found the Venus of Milos”
—Stone plaque

What her arms were doing is guesswork.
They are lost in the depths

of the Louvre, or still buried beneath
the trampled rye the pair of you

followed to this broken theatre.
From the bottom rows the sea

is no longer blocked
by the marble skene burned to

fertilize the fields. Did the arms
end up in the kiln that once stood

at the edge of the orchestra?
So many stories (ancient

and modern) about somebody
powerless to stop getting carried away.

If the acting was wooden,
the water the gusts whipped white

into horses might have prompted
applause from the upper reaches,

while your daughter can picture
all those limbs succumbing

to this Mexican wave
only her shadow is aping.