a sonnet on vicissitude


no summer cloud has ever seemed so soft;
no bright blue day has ever been so fine —
no other thing that’s flown or held aloft
has ever been so fleeting in design.

and passion flows from me to who-knows-where;
your whims might take you anywhere at all —
and leave my soft’ning thoughts out on the air
to realize my place, and then to fall.

for such is your capriciousness to me:
i study it, but know it less and less —
your liberty is its own probity,
and past my feeble ken, i must confess.

but all that flies away in rhapsody
those times you open up yourself to me.

“Now Atoned”

The majesty was once and young
As power flooded cares and lights;
For what could be was thereby hung,
In civil wreck and nervous rights

But now atoned the floods recede,
While she who knows her silence keeps:
It’s empty here, but still agreed
The monster isn’t dead, he only