a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets”: №158

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 liberally conceived so it’s unnecessary to alert me that at “Petrarchan sonnet” with 19 lines and an unorthodox rhyme-scheme is like a quartet with 5 members, though reproof is always welcome from anyone who feels so moved.

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I WAKE to find the shadows have grown tall
the light of day contracts to evening glow
the Sun slips downward till he’s drawn below
(from whence he’ll hie unto his Eastward hall)
the world vacated for the night to fall
and from the South a breeze begins to blow
with wafting scent of Jasmine that I know 
as darkness lays upon me like a pall
I see then burning cressets in the sky
those beacons burning with vehement flame
that shine and beckon to my soul from high
and beckon to my soul whence she came 
so she begins to rise up in reply 
and salmon-like she’ll swim up to the same
bosom that bore her, brought her forth, to die
and on the way she’ll shed her clothes and name
and form till she becomes a seeing eye
she’ll shed her selfhood and she’ll shed her name
but not the love that gives her wings to fly

Photo by Daniel Gregoire on Unsplash