Sistine

Michelangelo knew
Himself as a sculptor
And not as a painter.

The pope sent his army
To bring the sculptor home.
And then the work began,

Hours on the scaffolding,
Arm stretched above his head,
Hard work for a young man,

Which the sculptor wasn’t.
But still his calm hand moved
Across the chapel space,

And God’s immense hand stretched
Across a universe
To touch the first maker’s,

And God said, “It is good.”
And Adam stood, stretched, sighed,
simply said, “It is God.”