a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (12)

ARISE, my love, and come away from here
the winter’s done, the rains are past and gone
leave off this dirge, and take up a new song
the morning stars begin to disappear
quit the court of night, cast off chains of fear
the rafters of this room are warped and wrong
let’s venture forth to find the life we long
the distance beckons to us, draws us near
but you were too afraid, you said, too weak
strong you said you wished to be, not meek,
that there remained nothing more to speak
and these few words I never got to say
that as the morning gives itself to day
we’re strongest when we give ourselves away

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