A Face on a Single Point

There was a sculpture of my face
I had made long ago.

A set brow.
Closed eyes.
A closed mouth.
A lifted chin.

I
stood before it.

I moved
one step to the side.

Light fell
where there had been shade.

Another
step.

The face
changed little by little.

And yet
from wherever I looked,
the neck was narrow.

The large head
rested on that narrow place.

I
looked below the face

more than at the face.

I put my hand
to my own neck.

My fingertips
touched bone.

I lifted

my head a little.

The neck
pulled tight.

I lowered it
again.

I
took my hand away.

The face in the sculpture
still had its eyes closed.

One narrow neck
without a word

was holding up
that large head.