This is what I have made-
a man of gypsum
poised to flake in the merest breeze
to melt in a timid shower
a man on a vine
rounded and tender to the eye
still not ripe under skin
a man within
hand made swaddle
the cold without
a sure fire schema
to translate the world
into palatable strings
This is what I have made
I could not have done it without you.
