unsound sonnet 311km

What is this warmth which comes now forth from in

my breast, to make it rise just so as though

alive again? What is this subtle sting

which makes it beat and pound and of a sudden glow

from a fine venom i cannot resist?

Is it the strain of life applied to me

through memories which from seasons past persist

as ghostly breaths of passing ecstasy?

Or is it not a remnant, but a state

of coming back again to that sweet thing

which never had its birth in time or space,

but through God's grace has e'er allotted been?

It is the latter, i would say if asked,

which now consumes and sets my mind to task.

-------

(If asked, again and e'en again i'd say

it is the last which takes my heart in hand,

to guide it on and lead it not astray,

even if held but by one fleeting strand.

And may it never falter, never break,

that final string of hope i yet have left -

may it hold ever strongly enough to make

me not of light or love ever bereft.)

To the order of night

I've no mind left

to mind my thoughts of you.

My heart,

it has no strength

but that which ought reprove

a fool like me,

for wanting aught be true.

My hands,

they have no grip

to your own ever grasp,

my feet a cadence not

to e'er tread forth

or your steps take to task,

nor my eyes light

enough to look upon

unknown directions past.

Yet i clung still

to that last string

of hope a fool might have

until to-day,

until this night,

when all these gave their last.

a new place

i've gone to a new place. five hundred miles of pavement, eight hours of driving that should have been nine, nineteen dead butterflies and the trees, untold numbers of trees, all alone by the side of the road. unaware of what may come, they've taken root yet they, too, must some day go to a new place. but they, by God's good grace, they'll have no mind to think of an old home, or face or name.

The Fourth of the Three

The dream is gone, it seems,

to not soon come again

in similar shape or form,

yet you remain in me,

today,

may you or not return.

And if i were to leave

this week or come the next,

this i wish you to know -

when you i did first see,

betwixt

the day's and evening's shore -

I was in love that day,

again,

to love forevermore.

To you - to me -

To you,

the one i hardly know,

you seem too far away.

To you,

who in my dreams i've adored

yet grant not time or place to say -

for you,

my heart, allow it be -

to you

i write in reverie -

to me,

give not half hearted truths,

those measured by the drop.

To me,

speak only in absolutes

through thoughts in true words wrought

that we

one beating, breathing heart

may be,

and lose each other not.

Discernment

No truth is to be told

but that which can be seen

upon another's brow, or

etched upon the settled leaves-

no truth's to be avowed,

if by life written it can be.

To seek in sonorous verve

escaping others' lips,

do not to this too oft resort

nor seek in it the verity

engraved on all that is,

do not for truth in this confide

when only life can it emit.

If only, then, a man could find

this score on his own being impressed,

there's no thing time could e'er deny,

it would bare all at his behest.

Corazón, nos fallas

Corazón,
nos fallas.
Eres poroso,
saturado de vida
e igual asesino,
aunque lates
por la misma.
Corazón,
eres débil,
blando
y de piedra,
de calor infuso
y frío.
Pienso yo
Corazón,
eres largo
y pido,
Dios-
has el mío redondo,
aún esférico-
sin mancha
y perfecto.