made Modigliani famous by the time
he was 36 and I at 79 with more than
3 times his, my figurines accumulate
storage fees.
In despair I fall on my knees and look
where to put my hand to help myself up
when suddenly Jesus appears.
Well, I think it's at least his shadow as
I instantly recognize his famous profile.
Not quite like Hitchcock's but just the same
it's the crown of thorns that gives him away.
It brings to mind that eternity is contained
in circular temporality and the ephemeral.
That's why I love three-dimensionality
bridging sculptural dynamic infinity.
Who said infinity is static!
In any case he rises in a cloud
of fiery sparks proving my conundrum
dilemma.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem