For Arlene
To create you, I put on
my helmet and gloves,
threw fire onto steel.
Black went red, burned blue.
Once liquefied, sculpting began.
I bolted your feet securely
to a driftwood mount.
Your chiseled legs are thin.
The iron flesh of your thighs
rounds where your pelvic bowl
rises, narrows at your navel
then widens into your breast.
There is a deep imprint
along your back of wire
that is your spine.
Sunlight flickers off those traces.
Your arms have hands
formed like mine.
Fingers that push
or touch and let go.
Your neck is lean.
Your face is round.
Your chain ponytail
spills copper chords.
Your eyes, nose, and mouth
open to changing light and wind.
You glowed on my walkway
between the peony and lilac.
Off The Coast (2013)