Fig. 3.
Under damp wrinkled cloths his latest work | a shoulder
protrudes | child in a womb | amiable smoothed
tender with a knife | I’ve forgotten how to date
without touching | can’t help but imagine his blade
placed on your chin | I formed a habit of making them imagine
I’m feeling a rush | to hold you make a mold of it |’s 5 AM
baked terra-cotta clay | last impressions of figures or busts | new ways
of changing what I’ve done | let it harden quick but leave the dust on
nuisance | how different will you feel
on my eyelids | take your time head body stretch
out distress | The Burghers of Calais surrenders no heroic allegory
to fate | in a park designed for crowds to bump into each other | we finally met
after months | you in a black blouse and boots