This lapidary labor stirs a curse br Like sculpting marble blocks with callused hands br And polishing the surface to rehearse br Set ranks of wayward words the verse demands br To play an emerald tune on emerald line br And signify above the duple beat br Some metaphor that holds to the design br Or at hairpin turn, makes its sense complete. br br Poems are never final, just abandoned, br As artifacts beyond minute repair, br Vainly arranged, then grudgingly stranded: br A moment's monument—a grasp to share. br Like Adam's Curse, to carve in stone means pain, br But only heart creates: the opened vein.