A sonnet for April

Less than arm's length

How close can I come? Feet or inches may
at times partition me from entrance and
the glory desired;  I rarely mark the way
to that exalted path or the demand
which would enable it, for it is not
mine to possess -- though I can covet there --
where others access readily. The lot
of Biblical proscription states my stare
is just akin to murder, yet I hope
I merely recognize the wonderous
pure treasure of fervent pleasure I would scope
if I could feel the rain and thunderous
acclaim as clouds release their burden store;
its closeness magnifies the silent roar.