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Galatea Encore

Galatea Encore

As though the mercury’s under its tongue, it won’t
Talk. As though with the mercury in its sphincter,
Immobile, by a leaf-coated pond
A statue stands white like a blight of winter.
After such snow, there is nothing indeed: the ins
And outs of centuries, pestered heather.
That’s what coming full circle means –
When your countenance starts to resemble weather,
When Pygmalion’s vanished. And you are free
To cloud your folds, to bare the navel.
Future at last! That is, bleached debris
Of a glacier amid the five-lettered “never.”
Hence the routine of a goddess, nee
Alabaster, that lets roving pupils gorge on
The heart of color and the temperature of the knee.
That’s what it looks like inside a virgin



Poem Galatea Encore - Joseph Brodsky