Pygmalion

Pygmalion is staring at the rock.
The adage that the sculptor sees his art
as something he must labor to unlock,
to clear all but the necessary part,
until the sculpture's rescued from the rubble.
No, he does not believe it. No, it's stone,
a hunk of quartz and marble worth the trouble
of chiseling and polishing to hone
the shape of it. To execute his vision,
to bring forth that which wasn't, to create
with subtlety and skill, and with precision --
yes, that's why he's Pygmalion, the great --
He works it, till the rock yields Galatea.
And later, when he's asked, says: no idea.