Galleria Bargello, August 2009

"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks."
-Plutarch

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."