The glint and sheen
of Apollo’s figure, light from above
melting
down his breastbone,
rippling over his ribs
in rivulets
and dripping on the V
of the hips that lead the way
to his groin.
That marble, faded
to a light gray. Animation taken
away, the torso posed
in one moment, the way
the motion of poetry
holds still on the page.
His carapace shields
him from me, adumbrating
his insides, his guts and glory. That god—
truth and prophecy
healing and disease
light and Sun—
I am not permitted.
I cannot touch his fineness
with my outstretched hand. Forever
alone but always
needless.
I want to swim to your island.
I want to set it on fire.
Shake, shudder, and break
your shell. Cast it away.
Allow me to see your visions.
Let me behold you.
Pleas in whispers, screams.
Begging hands and bent knees.
My voice only echoes
in the chamber
of your stone ears.
Your eyes are always looking over my head.
I put away my matchsticks
and hammer. You remain, standing
the same as you were.
As you will be.
I wish I was unknowable.
