Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Love Sonnet
to the tune of a detuned violin

The first time I didn't see God,
—His hair unkempt like busted nylon strings—
I determined to write him an aubade
for fear I wouldn't not see him again.

Though arose a second occasion
(the first time I'm able to not hear his voice
(perfectly detuned like an unbalanced equation)),
I refrained from gift-giving by reverent choice.
He passed me by inside an earthquake.
My aubade: ashes&dust at first sign of daybreak.

Then the third (He graces my shoulder (left) each footstep
a looped clip of a hundred dropped pencils), I realize
how man cannot compute what's so
beautifully irrational and holy disorganized.

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