by Pavel Chichikov
He is, the same, both bronze and flesh
A corpus and a corpse, a slave
To Earth, free Man
No more alive than silicon and jasper
Yet He burns as slow flesh can
Until he dies and lives
I have seen a copper statue sleep –
Coma and disfiguration
Once-poured stone
I have seen His sides heave breath
His ribs expand
That were still cold and rigid
He breathes good metal molten,
Nine parts copper
One of tin
What is this metal artifact
This cold inert immortal
On a scaling cross?
He is the artisan of His own dust
The One who first made me
When I was ore
Now slough off the patina
That turns red flesh to green
Dead flesh to oxide to a skin
Bend and come alive, see
The stone-cold corpus on the cross descend
And be a Man
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.