Ex-Galatea

I have carved out the curve of your head

in wood, in sand, in stone

with rigid curls and sloping strands.

I have shaped the structure of your skull.

I t has taken me years deep in coffee grounds

waking from dreams to find in the sheets

the contours of your face folded tight.

The hang of curtains tied and pulled

have formed your silhoette in shadow

and in the garden grows

a topiary trimmed to fit your shape.

I have carved out the curve of you

with knife, with hand, with thought--

the back of your head on the train

with no return ticket.