This date cannot take me away
from you the way
I almost succeeded in making it
work for me years ago. Got it wrong.
The clouds won’t break 

this afternoon. Learning
to walk again, you can rest
your eyes in this patch
of gray. I may escape on foot
for a moment. I will return 

to the day breathing
in relief—a sculpture
breaks free of its artist’s grip.
I’m a step outside
Rodin’s Caryatid. I’m climbing 

outside someone else’s
imagination working on a dream
where no one has to say
anything. Let those words he says
will never die expire.