"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks."
And what of sculpture? I hear the cheers
of the Israelites, the thud of Goliath's
head on the sand echoing in this prison-
turned-museum. David stands as tall as I am
(what giants will I slay?), some supple ideal
of soft flesh in cold bronze, and were it not
for the motionless nature of sculpture,
that forever-fleeting smirk, his young lips
of victory would have whispered,
"No poem is as polished and revered"
or, "Let us see you make something
worthy of a pedestal."