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In The Echoes of My Mind
I gaze upward in awe,
trying to imagine the
thoughts that kept you
painting plaster with such
delicate loveliness.
So easily you combined
sensual tenacity with a touch
of the divine.
How tiring it must have been
to lay cramped in your
dreams,
a madman's schemes,
that prospered to eternal life.
Harnessed by time to your
brush and chisel,
you stroked and picked
your way to fame,
dreaming of a curve of breast,
a gentle hip, a woman's
outstretched thigh.
I imagine those hands as
though they touch me-
lovingly creating me
from stone,
cleverly bringing me to life,
so imperiously, making me your own.
I feel your spirit enter me
as you go on alone.
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©2001 Judith Anne Labriola
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