Sonnets

An Unintended Stop While Walking

it is the end of summer: I'm looking
into a tree that's been designated
as an ornament, as a metaphor
to hide the monotony of houses

eyes search the dissonant music of birds
and my own clear sadness begins to rise
into a gray dark sky -- and I am thinking
surely it is because they possess wings

the air, saturated with misery,
an invisible dam that cannot hold
this immense clarity -- abandoned tears

but precisely at the moment of hope
I hear the dull revolver: thud thud thud
of windows now defensively closing