Sonnet
       

to catch a weather and mother it quiet
to cradle the gullfeather in an electric net
to cull from the spindle a dress of gold flax
to blacken the mouth of drowsy indolence
to resort at last to impossible measures
to rue the breath's frail-slurred murmur
to rescue blight from the ice-stunned orange
to patch up each almanac teary and worn
to bridle the jubilance of just-woken horses
to brew sweet tea for a blackguard called peace
to pare pixels into hammered stars
to wake a sundial from the hall of locked hours
to marry each countenance tender and iron
to wash the black dog clean of desire

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Copyright © 2018 Margaret Ronda All rights reserved
from For Hunger
Saturnalia Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission