—Musee Rodin, Paris

I had never known the passion
Rodin lifted from stone into light—

contours like silk embrace, whisper
in shadows; kneel flesh before flesh,

holy; gather energy between palms,
a universe. I wander room after room

until I find The Hand of God on
a wooden pedestal, close enough

to touch; I turn the piece slowly, see
the sinews, knuckles and fingernails

of the Master hand, and his children,
still part of the earth, not fully formed,

but held—I lay under his chisel as
he lifts me from stone into light.