Woodland Sonnets


Here’s the spirit level, lake holding firm
To hard ghost rock, creviced grimaces…stern
With lichen, moss, blueberry havens.
Then this thing, me, off-kilter and engraved
By flesh, whispering itself spirit
From a tongue, mutinous and enslaved.
To frame the balance, the plain, I fear it’s
Between brain and bone, alone, all together
As flesh is water, and spirit, strange matter.
Let me rest, thin lake, small sea, other sea
More substantial as you invisibly gather
Breezes of light, smaller than me,
Like humility, the ghosts in the skull,
My eyes see as one, as two waves fall.

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