Sonnet

That's what it says to the bloomingest more,
don't ask the reason, follow the plume
to its fullest expression, the blood-burst room
bleeding its name, autonomous ore

mining the season it was plundered for.
These and those, blurred tether, blond écume,
sky intransigent of passage, rude loom
coiled and cabled, polyphonous store

sounding its seemings. Apple, atom, eye,
crux of nuance, manifest of why,
shall there be shale and hollow, fix and list,

a zero mattered, a quiescence kissed,
rouge reine who rules the wrack and motley mien
the rain of faces, flesh-figured, dead green.

Copyright © 2005 Karen Volkman All rights reserved
from Gulf Coast
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission