SWEET TIME: AN EXPERIMENTAL SONNET
by L. N. Allen
Yet at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near
1 ~ Pastilles of Madagascar chocolate
infused with rose hips, almond,
and (just barely) the scent
of India on the tongue . . . .
2 ~ Counting a godwit’s feathers
twenty, thirty, forty five
until it flies away… counting a sandpiper’s
barbs, quills, hamuli . . . .
3 ~ My sentences
a soupçon short of reason, yours
a smidgen short of rhyme, our silences
Claude Monet blurs . . . .
(The chariot on a hunting spree
is only after bones. That’s three.)
Copyright © 2015 by L. N. Allen.