29 Dec 2016 – Sonnet
(An Hour at the Carmelite Chapel)
Your taste for drama keeps you up at night
rehearsing both what she said and what you
(had you been ready, primed then for a fight)
might well have said, but didn’t. So you brood,
auditioning for yesterdays now lost,
and throw yet more good hours after bad.
You spend your days unmindful of their cost,
as if the well were deep, and you had scads.
If once you caught the gentle call of stillness
stirring in a void you never noticed,
you would ask for freedom from this illness
of a mind obsessed, on folly focused,
and beg to be admitted to this place
transcending all the noise of time and space.