John Berryman’s name
surfaces twice in one week, Medusa’s head
appears in print, then on a wall, next
a ceiling, or could be hanging midair

in atrium space. Clichés from Friday afternoon
haunt her come Sunday evening, no matter who
she speaks to on Saturday, no matter whose
voice warms then breaks

open her heart. Lost
wax casting is an industry

she can believe in without
having to see. In nine technical steps, her form
is firm and free.