To a Stone Head (Poetry)

Strange to imagine
you were in there waiting all that time
your harsh and measureless gestation
dependent on a sculptor’s dream
seeing your form trapped
skull-heavy in a breathless womb.

She freed you — hacked you out
cracked open the tough caul
sure as a midwife helping birth along
and you emerged unnamed
your face a perfect mask for hiding pain
untouched by thought or fear
born to be a god of open spaces
you rest now — frozen in the sun.