This next poem is based on a framed etching
of Amedeo Modigliani, which my brother, Jack, gave
to my nephew, Lester.
And which was in the room down in Long Island in New York
State where I wrote the poem.
It's called "Prisoner."
"Modigliani's most sorrowful nude wishing she
could break her still glass.
Escape into the present tense to join her flesh.
It is time she wants so badly.
She would shatter everything.
If only she could see the centuries lumbering
like dinosaurs into the darkness,
blacker than her own lonely rectangle."