It’s all about desire, you have to get that, you have to find a way
to push it into the stone – make it big
because there’s so much of it and it keeps moving and flowing
like the river. There’s his, to pull himself
out of the water onto the land, there’s ours, to watch him, to see him
in the act of making a new gorgeous line of himself,
and there’s yours, to show us, to draw the desire from its source,
to spin it and circle it, so its truth ripples
through the marble and we feel it in the slant of him, as we circle him
and see his breath move like water
through his lungs, and the space between his thighs and the cracked scar
that cuts across the back of him and imagine,
for a moment, that it’s us – no, not us, me – he is turning towards,
my body that will feel the weight of his.
That’s what you have to do to beckon him down from the mountain
and push the warmth and the ease of him
into your cold stone. Start with that notch at the base of his throat,
carve that thimble where the bone coves.
And then follow and hollow out the line that runs from there as it
meanders and trickles through his pectorals
and under the swerve of his ribs. Open up the space between rib and hip
until we hear them call out to each other
across the smooth stone of his skin. Slow time with your hands so it
pendulum hangs heavy and suspended in that moment
before movement, when the muscles are still and soft, waiting to harden
and contract. Make his torso lean on a hand
that’s no longer there. Splay its rays so we think we see him press
down on its palm to catch the mass of himself
and haul it up like a magnificent fish pulled dripping and gleaming
out of the river. And when you’ve done that, you’re nearly there.
All you need to do now is seal out death, it has no place here.
It casts no shadow on this stone.