Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Monday, June 15, 2020

Sonnet #289

There is a time for everything under the moon
A time to toss, a time to turn, a time to think of waking
A time to try water, hot tea, hot milk, to ease the aching
A time to give up on sleep and leave the bedroom

What will I do with this wild and precious darkness?
There's no one here but me. This is my secret place
A garden in darkness, the toad songs and cats' chase
The blowing spring winds carry lost things, in starkness,

There is a season for lost dreams, I hunt them in shadow
Among the shadows, I will find my peace without rest
In watching my weary waking world and dream to know
What darkness called me here to see, what little, what left?
There is a time for everything under the moon, I go
To walk alone along the roadside. Do not follow. This is best.

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