by Maxwell Kuhl
They were like a slab of marble;
All lovely with twisting lines,
All sorts of spontaneous turns
Bending and bright white like ribbons
Both rigid and easy, hapless and hungry,
And shades all together falling and fading;
Drawn out all along a smooth and solid
Immovable surface against immovable force
like waves whose ripples are frozen forever.
And nothing they could do could undo their doing
No making could unmake their form and shape
— Except an errant crack, and then a sudden break.