It took Michelangelo
To find where David was hidden
In a chunk of rock--
To chip and scrape away
All that was not
The shephard king.
It took Michelangelo
To find the finger of God
By placing on
The sameness of a ceiling
Those blends of particulars
That made Adam.
It took Michelangelo
To find a mother grieving,
Holding her sacrificial lamb,
Entombed in stone,
Awaiting ressurection
In eyes and hands.