Sonnet

SONNET

I have never written a sonnet, and I never would,

But for the memory of our love I will write one to remember.

You are eternal summer—lovely, temperate, good—

I will love you countless ways, and after death, better.

I love you close, as your hand on my chest is my hand,

Or as your eyes, the sweet moment I fall asleep, close.

I love you white, as a desert of pure, relentless sand,

Or green, as the mountain heights of fresh water flows.

You are the bursting hope of dawn, dusk in luminous desire.

You are the abounding body of a river, rain falling to console.

You are Shakespeare’s immortal fancy, Barrett Browning’s fire,

Neruda’s darkling secret between the shadow and the soul.

Forswear my foolish oath—it is folly to say never!

Our sonnet and our love will now abide forever.

Winner, Carillon Magazine Sonnets for Charity Competition 2015

Originally published in TWJ Magazine (May 1, 2015)

I have never written a sonnet...

Reflecting on your tranquil life…

Reflecting on your tranquil life…

Reflecting on your tranquil life, I gaze at you in repose, your eyes pearls shaken loose from treetops, silvered.

Rain pelts our roof with pebbles as you drift into sleep, river brushwood rubbing shoulders with land.

Rising and falling, a cloud bumping over a mountain, your white arms. Turning, you exhale deeply. Mist gently pushes back your hair.

Wild brushstrokes of pillows and linens tumble as children, their laughter, bolts of silk, shimmying.

Gazebo freshly planted, you wind your legs and arms about a trellis.

Let us be orchids who widen our filigreed faces, leaves tapering to wax points proffering greetings.

Nodding plants in a circle, we will dine with April as our guest, grasping his warm hands from the vows of dawn until the crown of dusk.

Originally published in The Furious Gazelle (April 28, 2015)

Wild brushstrokes of pillows and linens...