Block
Gaze-defying,
it remains stubbornly stone,
though I will something in it to look back.
I coax the shape, assign angles
their particular meanings. I designate
a certain curve the spine and allow
a shadow to answer for an eye.
Monstrous, the imperfectly real
is a thing of my hands, but is not my own.
My tools, warm stone,
morning brightness on my dusty knuckles,
the idea has settled in
to the atoms and loosened
the bonds that imprisoned form.
Sarah Morehouse
July 6, 2010
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