Even for a miracle
The sky writes to me
I reply, with blackbirds
Sir, I commend to you my spirit
My proud skull made of clay
I fall completely from
Into an act most pure
Excelling more preciser
Than love
In my most clearest of ethics
I praise the scalpel
The chiseled
The purposeful soul
Very good.
Thank you!
So very beautifully written…it touches the deep parts of heart and soul! Wonderful poem Mari!
Thank you : )
Shaped for a cool-domed winter morning. Nicely honed.
A’ imagining it – thank you!
Love this!! Have a nice day!!
Merci, hugs.. .
Your simple use of ‘Sir’ here reminds me of W H Auden.
Sir Auden – typing upward, reel bouncing decor – having read so much of him, his delicate frown . .
Thank you, always..