My lady, it's the taking
away that gives the marble grace
and bares the figure's face
to grow beneath the flaking.
And like the figure I'm encased:
so hard the rough excess
of carnal appetite,
which closes me from light,
that straining is no use.
But lady you can carve distress
away and sculpt me loose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem