black bird sings early, the same bird calls late. new light drowns darkness, spring spins around. black bird calls early, the same bird calls late. sonnet sings ten beats to anotherβs spare sound.
who asks for word, who knows which hour it starts, which minute, which rule of rhyme or reason. making of lines , counting the breaks, our hearts open. this is february, split season. moon draws the tide, upper river pools on spring, a note , a sonnet , a dance where light or other prayers redeem fools, those who rage the world sons may change perchance.