Heroic Sculpture

We join the animals
not when we fuck 
             or shit 
not when tears fall

but when 
            staring into light
            we think




A whispering far away
heard by the poet in a bower
of flesh his limbs stir

is it sadness or the perfection
of eyes that clutches him?

And a parade of lamenting
draws near a wave of angels
he is drowning in the word