, , , ,

~~a Petrarchan sonnet~~

To begin, begin. There is no other
way to seize the day except in bite-size
momentary victories. The big prize
skips on flagstones, a child to her mother.

Forget the chase! To curse one another
blows this ship to smithereens. No surprise
arrives unseen, though to these wearied eyes
respite delights, a shy, tender lover.

Forgive these shuttered days their laziness.
Allow the crashing, cruel thoughts to plummet.
Breathe confusion upward to a summit
of new symmetries where right and left hand
clasp, polarities dissolve to kindness
slowly to my knees, glancing up, I stand.

© Elaine Stirling, 2020

The title of this sonnet comes from a quote by the poet William Wordsworth who was born this day, April 7, 1770.
Image comes from Public Domain