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Nicholas David Klacsanzky : Poet and Pundit

The Blessing of a Saint
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The Blessing of a Saint

 

To hear you sing

walking up my valley

 

every morning is to remember

the chime of a sparrow's cry –

 

the whom

whom-whom

 

of your drolling mumble bliss

follows the wind to my ear –

 

a bud of nectar, sanctum

scent gathering form

 

as a drop of calm – you lift

me like a mother

 

and for hours I swallow the sun.

I am no longer a child

 

to play with the dawn

but still I suckle

 

the bright joy of your song –

you carry me through

 

the morning into day like wind

wafting winter seeds to their solace –

 

you promise, with your breath,

to come back tomorrow, and give

 

another blessing. You leave me

with the sun still in your hands.