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Nicholas David Klacsanzky : Poet and Pundit

The Blessing of a Saint

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



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.