A statue in the Villa Borghese, Rome

I fooled the sculptor—thinking he could

catch my undying trick. How did I

become a container and pour myself into it

at the same time? I flowed from marble,

I flowed back into it.I'll endure, perpetually

tightening the tiny gimbals in each

foliated fingertip. Staying still is unceasing,

always becoming: girl, god, stone, tree, sculptor.

And these who come to stand, circle, stand—

do they know they have forgotten themselves

a moment too long? Moments are large as villas,

parks, mythologies, centuries of Art. Thoughts

run through me like a fountain, water in constant

escape—which is no escape.