a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan sonnets: №149
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.
THROUGH CHOICE exchange of words we ever seek estrangements to amend and to repair with halting tongues we ply to sculpt the air fine phrases fashion and proceed to speak like fallen leaves when by a forest creek they’re born and ferried on a silent of prayer that once received, they’ll be revived with care for in this world the soul’s converse is weak but one day we will speak from heart to heart behold the one the other face to face then distances won’t cleave our souls apart when love bestrides all cosmic time and space no words will then be needed to impart the things that only can be said by grace
