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[mysonnets]

One hundred and forty beats til it ends

Now one hundred and thirty, like an age.

Tracing a fractal, a manifold that bends

Progressing to an inevitable passage.

One hundred beats left for me to say

I am yours and you are mine once again.

Just eighty to note the dark sky today

Is just the shade of life’s winter bargain.

Sixty beats to say I can smell your hair

Just by turning a page to remember

That perfect day when we first laid bare

The purple roots of grey December.

Just twenty now and a steep trail to mount

save for one more glance, a last beat to count.

[mysonnets]

3. Sonograph

She is sort of like a broken angel,

Her wings were clipped when she fell to earth.

A descent on bikes down that steep hill

She laughed and slipped in an evening birth

  She makes me breathe in ways uneven

It’s the cutting wind on this lava beach

Can she lay a wreathe in mourning leaving

A steel-edged promise too cold to preach

  She might become my future savior

If there’s a leather couch where she might perch

Her breath’s amiss til the smoothened favor

Of late winter sun and a dawning search.

  She turns around a careworn bracelet

A piece of silver spun both hot and wet 

[mysonnets]

2. Thinking Back

It was just a day on another coast

More rocks than sand but still you were there

A soft blanket on a windswept post

A steady sun heating November air

  You rolled over and raised your hand

Fixing me with that green eyed stare 

What frozen thought from a foreign land

Could clothe forever what July had bared

  It was just a day ago I saw you first

Or perhaps a year, it’s all the same

It was a sudden surge, a steady thirst

A love now sundered by jagged blame.

  It was my wine-touched finger upon your lips            

I can feel your smile on parched fingertips.