Goliath must see him now,
a giant to Rome and a tender
shepherd boy– naked he came,
naked he will go –to his people.
He is poised, static in marble,
the muscle is unyielding.
In the banner after the victory,
he waves the head of his enemy
forgetting that day chased him
into broken hips, bending bows
and a soft bruise on his neck.
The oil calls forth kings:
(only God sees, only God hears)
His dance, an abomination
to man but God plays the tune.
How be it that his loins so beautiful,
caved into murder?
How be it, his loins so small made
the hands of a man wilt?
Chiseling and rocking
away the sins of David
Michelangelo,
must have waited on God.