On open-shackle feet
she crosses long dotted lines.
Crosses sketch to object,
ore to molten steel.
Hot to cold.
Small medium beyond large to huge.
Norway / France / New York.
Land / sea / land.
Piece, whole,
whole again to piece.
Ideal to real.
Then to now. Full to hollow.
Mother to metal.
Flesh to hammered skin.
Adamant to a five-inch sway in wind.
With a passport stamped change
and be the same,
a photo ID glib as a poster on a sheriff's wall
and signed, sealed documents
she crosses.
Fine, you say, fine. But then
who is she?
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