what matters

i came across this piece of awesomeness today: tom in rome by jonathan galassi

bolder than antonio canova
outdoing the apollo belvedere,
you demolish every red guide reader's
half-baked callow notion of an
adequate response to what we see:
forensically investigating daphne,
how she limb by limb becomes a tree,
you scant the art, stern sage who's always known
what matters in a figure is the stone.

you are toffee, you are sand in sunlight,
you are handsome, winsome, bright and lithe:
chaste carrara, blue-veined parian,
hand-warmed pentelic when you buck and writhe
more contorted than laocoön,
diminutive fine subtle lordship, master-
work surpassing alabaster,
as i am tufa to your travertine.

go ahead and shame us in the forum
with your ironic fine decorum, do:
antinous with glasses and umbrella,
deus ex machina of the novella
whose story was that my roads led to you.

thank you, new york book review, for publishing this. i can't get it out of my head now, especially the fact, that what matters in a figure, is the stone.