Sonnet from Year of the Butterfly

.                       Such a half-lit room as I now share
.                       with no one I once shared with you, your color gold,
.                       eyes of sand, a glass tips over, a smell of hair,
.                       drips, drops of honey, wine, a tale half-told.
.                       Twenty years since in the reckless world I went
.                       traveling their trains and fields of sweet rose bay
.                       and silver-lined cities, nor do I lament
.                       the years not spent in your soft sway.
.                       For those twenty years are as a glass to hold
.                       that spot of time, you upon the marble red
.                       of Keats’ urn, forever young, forever bold
.                       upon the kiss, not broken by life’s procrustean bed.
.                         I too struggle in the urn-imagined light
.                         for a moment, then a flash, a color, icy black.

.                      BookCoverImage    year-bfly-cover   Cover png

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s