Three Sonnets

A Sonnet

Wings spread like the man slicking his hair
over the water fountain in Buena Vista Park
the gulls soar out into the air
above the pond, gently lapping, heavy
breathing of a woman power walking
which suddenly stops as she passes,
jogger adjusting his pack, but how many
of them want to be a river or even
one of those buoys floating against
the current, no they want to be
hamburgers pick-up trucks Shimano gears
all these things we make now that don’t last
much longer than our brief breaths
pulling us that much closer to wind’s


A Sonnet

When we say love we mean to give a name
to something so secret we must keep it
even from ourselves. The calling out to
the Friend, the love-cry, the woman carrying
a quart of milk all these things sacred coming
one time only this moment and only
when there is absolutely nothing else
to say, no other sound to make a pigeon
flattened right in front of my house
the blind cat hunches its shoulders as I walk
past and out, down on the street, this feels like
the first day and I can’t remember
where my car is or when I’ll have
to move it again, holy


A Sonnet

Women there are in whose faint smile
of recognition lies the grave of beauty, the echo
of a wistful glance brief as sunlight
flashing on keys, the woman who bought Frida Kahlo
stamps at the post office walked out
with a limp and I thought how it all fits
together so strangely, that you are what
I have been saving all of my favorite
postcards for, my last words, the first
bit of sweetness I feel in the morning
the dull pleasant ache in my groin as if
a hand had just let go of it infinitely
soft and unaware of its own
deft power


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2 Responses to Three Sonnets

  1. Kent Johnson says:

    damn. These are gorgeous.

  2. dhadbawnik says:

    thanks, kent… i used to write a sonnet a day based on pound’s advice or someone’s advice…

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