Care

is a painting you return to every day;
to add another stroke, to follow another line;
to make it real by the way
you consider; to make me yours, to make you mine.
... is a sculpture peeled from the nothingness,
marble, clay; here a fingerprint, here a swirl.
Here—(I need your eyes to look at this—)
a questionmark; what is it now? A girl?
A dream, a weight? A body watched and pressed
into life? You watch and press, breathe
me back—sometimes barely touched, sometimes caressed.
Carefully circling, you gradually unsheath
(it, her, me). For all this labor, love, in the end,
will be the prize; love of an art, love of a friend.