Rodin, Breaking through Stone

Rodin is my favorite artist. His Danaïde was the sculpture I was studying when I wrote this poem.

one bone at a time
one hand, one arm

chiseled from the inside out

the grand craggy foot of Rodin steps
to the floor tentatively, then firmly
a leg may follow, the other foot
he rests unsure until he sees them
those limbs in stone, in marble

a smooth-to-the-touch voluptuous
body lies at the summit
like a fallen angel
her thick strands of solid cheveux
still part of the block
flow down around him

her small milk-white breasts
and long-arching back
beckon, her thick solid thighs
and thin curled fingers
arrest the onlookers

while below, the hero
hammer in hand
turns his back and
carves another of his
own feet, a foot the
size of Jupiter, and he says
"je suis narcissiste"