22 Sep 2016 – Sonnet
Another lass who hasn’t got a clue
how her kind countenance has such a pull!
A blazing sun that cannot guess what drew
yet one more fool – and now her skies are full!
There is a singing pinwheel in the breast
her slightest smile can set off in a spin.
You’d think those burning eyes could pierce this chest,
but no – she never sees what moves within.
A crowded orbit, this, at perigee
I haunt the drifting dust clouds of her time.
The dirt of stars, my captive soul can’t flee
this force of nature, Muse of all these lines.
I’ll hide this open heart where she can see,
and still she’ll never guess it’s her I mean.