the sonnet lives on

Like it Matters

The trees outside your window undulate
in ripples mild or wild if there’s a storm.
I shelter in the crevice of your arm
between the storms that rage then dissipate.

You talk about Beethoven, about Kant
and architects whose names I’ve never heard
and naked dawns that rouse sojourning birds
but never do you ask me what I want.

I’d tell you I try not to want too much.
For what’s revealed, there’s always more concealed.
There are too many fences in this field.
These woods are filled with thistles sharp to touch.

But if this night were deep as it is long
I’d say I want your cloud of birds at dawn.


Poem by Kelly Ellis