“I take it then there’s nothing here for you
That suits your present tastes. Again I can
Tell you this man does bronze as fine as Rodin
At his best. And his stone, you’ll note the true
Lines of the Manhattan David, would do
For Michaelangelo. But I understand.
You want to see him make some piece of a man’s
Soul not yet encountered. The perfect statue.”
I would like to see Eve, ten months before
She eats the apple, and Adam embraced
In one glorious coming of the human race
On love’s unloathsome bed at Eden’s core.
Tremoring lips and limbs where perfection lay.
The immortal climax of innocent play.
Originally published in Pivot, No. 54. Summer 2002
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