Sunday, May 7, 2017

A sonnet about confirmation and memory

there is no doubt that I was there

These places and their spaces are discrete
and widely separated, so much that
I must envision they occurred, their fleet-
ness as elusive as a dislodged hat
upon a gusty wind, their imprint like
a footstep in the tidal sands -- I know
they happened yet they left no strike,
no mark upon a rock that would there show
a known event of notability --
so when my time has passed, they pass as well,
spectacular yet with no history
save this; and so 'tis here that I can tell
their simple story, that they let me take
all the naked love that we could make.

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