Deborah Cox


Michaelangelo’s David replies


Nobody traced a sonnet with any other view
than the intense one you cast on him you pitied and then slew –
that loving mix of mercy with a hint of disgust
which is the mark of a man who’s marbled out of dust.

Don’t say no rhyme can satisfy / time has too rough a skill
to halt the pressured arc of youth unflexed to flex the kill;
or that no meter’s indented enough to make more real
the imprint of a pair of thighs my fingertips can feel

for the surface of your skin's not left, by marks that do not press
against the parchment of being, impermeably undressed
and your body does not harden to a nib that does not rest
upon the vellum of nothing with nothing to express

unless unflesh could flesh the life to feel or you could not say
‘Unlike black marks un-masking white, this life’s worth more than clay.’

Submitted: Sunday, March 23, 2014
Edited: Thursday, April 03, 2014

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