The Sculpture

From the mist’s dense cape
I carve your body’s shape --
gently sculpting, all morning.

With my eyes shut, I sit
amid the fog’s heavy sheets
as its frost settles
on my cheek, ear, and nose.
The same hands,
the same lips, the same eyes --
I find them with such ease --
Your torso floats on that river;
I shall conquer its flow.
Your figure blossoms, freeing itself,
leaving behind sun’s light
and fog’s ephemeral body.
You’re entwined with my soul --
its root, plinth, and depth.