The sculptor

one day you will appear
holding the veils of women
you've undressed,
who've undressed
for you,

the son you would not hold

bared flesh:
a newborn's
howling vision –

the son you saw
jutting fist against canyon,
an endless echo
of need -

an apparition

one day
you will regret
the man
you could not carve
out of this stone