A Hundred Sonnets

Words of us are everywhere..

Beneath black soil , tapering with

The aroma of earth.

Slowly, I dig them up to save. Words like simplicity.

Angular.

Eternal.

Among things remembered,

Strong shoulders to steady me

In the heat of an August funeral..

The back of a hand slowly across

My neckline...

Cinnamon mixed with the

Smell of seduction...

And ink across young stomachs.

For you I will write a hundred sonnets,

As has been done before me ...

Using words I discover as I travel..

Putting them together

To form a lifetime of pentameter.