1. Canova

Hungry, tired of the 

Cold, white beauty, 

Canova moves outdoors to watch 

The light show.

By now

People (most people) have moved

Beyond the point where it’s believed that

Zeus or some other deity is 

Trash-talking in heaven,

That sparks fly earthward from some red-hot anvil.

At this point it’s understood that ions 

Slam dance through clouds in steel-toed boots,

Dragging heels to spread electric cables

Downward, escape ladders for wayward angels

Eloping with men. 

He’s startled from his reverie. 

There’s someone at the door, another assistant

With another model, pretty, but inappropriate 

For the task. He’s been catfished again.

2. Cupid and Psyche

I kiss you on the eyelids

And exhale fog. 

Outside the room, I hear the quiet footsteps of pacing ghosts.

I climb the secret stairway at the end of the room,

Walk across our ceiling and descend. 

At first, I find nothing in the hallway until

I accidentally stumble across a puddle of

Sleepy evening sunlight huddled like yardbird convicts,

Chips on thick paint forming hash marks 

Alleging days of confinement. How long,

How long have we been here waiting release,

The breath held,

The idea of freedom a conscious myth

As ancient as Tuscan columns 

Hand-carved in hard, monolithic marble?

Days without numbers,

Nights sleeping without rest,

The cold wrapping its arms around you

Until you retreat under your blankets

And comforter into sweet nothingness. Outside

The snow falls like dust 

From the edge of a chisel, but

Canova’s heart is sequestered in a tomb 

While his right hand twitches to carve 

The inside of a jar in which it’s captured.