Untitled Sculpture
You handle rain beautifully.
Your shape reminds me of flesh, an organ
pressured into odd angles,the poem too filling the odd shape of the moment,
entering every fissure and hole without hesitation,
with the curiosity of water.A heart then - black, huge with disuse
and that bizarre selling that happens
when a familiar word is repeated over and over: Heartflooding into the fingers of my father's hand
as if blowing a balloon
and I hold it like his real hand:
as if it would last forever.