October 22nd, 2018


(no subject)


                                                   For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
                                                     Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee

                                                                                    Sonnet 27

A lover whose lover in silence broods,
too far away to touch,
sent forth a handful of fragile goods —
vowels and such.

So through they went and over they trod,
and crossed the Atlantic Moat,
for longing is shaped like a fishing rod
with a stubbornly glowing float.