a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan sonnets: №162

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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I STUMBLED for nearsightedness in time
events at hand in their reality
eluded me, remained too close to see
and tone deaf to life’s rhythms and life’s rhyme
no tune I heard, alone the single chime
and failed to note the weft of melody
and so beheld no forest, only trees 
alone the weather, failed to grasp the clime
until I learned the backward-turning look
in recollection’s mirror where were revealed 
the many things that first my sight forsook 
what had repelled my vision like a shield
in memory fell open like a book
a letter that for me has been unsealed

Photo by Inga Gezalian on Unsplash