Camille Claudel Comes Back

I know better, she says inside,
Her head down, the dark encroaching
All the way in, her candle glowing.
She holds as still as stone
alone
while he sculpts-
this force of Rodin, the fire inside,
is a man
like she has never known.

Her world is rocked with it,
This power that so depends upon his
Demand, his urge. Where are the gods
Now, but inside her playing havoc
With all she knows and wants to remember.

Make the clay mine, she whispers,
all urges mergingher tools her hands,
life in the wet clay forming itself
As she moves. Precision comes, as daylight does.

Her tools wait-

They move me, she says,
limbs coming to life as she sculpts herself
awake. Caress, feel me
Frantic with the urge of clay.

He is gone.
At last she sleeps, dreams
Of limbs, beautiful, the sea roaring.
The tide is turning.