a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (22)

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. Also, I should acknowledge that the formal aspect of this “Petrarchan sonnet” is especially liberally conceived so it’s unnecessary to alert me that at “Petrarchan sonnet” with 16 lines is like a quartet with 5 members, though criticism and rebuke is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.

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THROUGH this labyrinth I make my way
my eyes confounded by each turn and bend
no foresight gaining as my way I wend
all forward motion with each passing day
folds in on itself and fast fades away
each novel convolution seeks to send
me back in one sustained circuitous trend
and thus my sacred mission to betray
until upon my hand a dragonfly
alights, gossamer-winged, and I behold
its compound visor and its myriad eye
a Cherub’s wing just as prophets foretold
in aspect infinite as the starry sky
that like a fan above my head unfolds
and with my hand of ken I first lay hold
of the diaphanous mystery of the I