Her Chalice

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Her Chalice

Sonnet

My body is a chalice now
No more a clutch of bone and sinew.
Much that grates has now eroded
Not mine the craft that thus far prodded.

I forsook the mind’s machinery
A heart no longer besotted by finery.
My days run now by an occult calendar
By nights through inner worlds I meander.

I repose in silence within and body dost act
Through speech and gesture maintain a time-born pact.
Who then powers this? Mind and body orchestrate?
Whence the will and impulse to concentrate?

It was She who dropped a drop of Her
Into this chalice that is Hers forever.