a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan sonnets: №161

Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them. This is more-or-less an actual Petrarchan sonnet so it will not be preceded by my usual exculpatory disclaimer about having departed from the paradigmatic form.

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ENFOLDED IN the Summer air’s embrace
beside a pool upon the bank we stand
poised upon the place the water meets the land
reflections casting on the waters’ face
as in a glass, our figures’ forms we trace
expressions that we seek to understand
as divination of what’s close at hand
what shall tomorrow come to be the case
these ideal sights beheld as in a mirror
our present state upon the future cast
and so removed from now, perhaps for fear—
for fear that it will, once achieved, not last
yet even now by them our courses steer
for now is both the future and the past

Photo by Jp Valery on Unsplash