Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 (Duchamp)

#114

Light is invisible until it strikes our Eve,
When her body becomes an object we perceive.
It might have been there all along if we believe
That what we cannot see we can conceive.
Though unclothed, she steps quickly to achieve
The bottom of the stairs. Her limbs slice and weave
The air she's turned to gold, all to deceive
Lust her modesty can only hope to aggrieve.
Nothing of her is lost that we cannot retrieve
With a blink. But look! While looking too closely, we've
Dissolved her, like pouring Chardonnay through a sieve.
From oblivious blindness there is no reprieve.
Failure to see, to see, to humbly and with love receive
Such beauty, condemns us criminally naive.