Sonnet: Thieves

Through turns and twists, an endless beat, we ran;
I’d spurn the mists, descend to meet with thee.
We’d turn a bend upon a stone, and we
Would earn an end, and on our own, began.

But for a while–and never knowing when–
Once more to smile, then time to go, it was.
Through turns, we twist, an endless beat, and us
Returned, we list, pretend, and meet again.

You’d wrest some rest from lies and flight, and stole
From me some paradise, not quite forlorn.
I took, from you, a measure of that sworn
A garden, too. You stole no treasure, whole;
But gave us shrift, though magical and brief.
Forgiveness gifts me gratitude, my thief!

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Sonnet III: Family

At last! the Rain! who triumphs as She falls
To tame the Wood who drinks Her as She calls
His name. Insatiable tonight, this Rain
Who nourishes His great and wooden halls.

So long, so passionate, this sweet affair;
Young Forest; sweet, His Rain; discrete, Their care;
Adorns She this, His stature and His strength,
His fingers, leafy, brush Her streaming hair.

When first I saw Them courting through the night,
Her tempest, brazen, teased His leaves to flight;
And coy, Her tear-drops mingled with His dew;
So sparkled He, as She, with joy and light.

Though Earth were His, and Sky were Her domain;
Her squalls prepare and then delight, at length,
This bassinet wherein Their Children grew.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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