I posted this one on my old blog a few years ago—well, five years and eleven months ago—just after I wrote it. I’ve just now edited one syllable of it (changed the word “defined” to “confined”).
Frost-Damaged Sonnet (near the end of a long, cold May)
Some June when lilacs aren’t in bloom
and willows are bare of bark,
when there’s no chickadee, no bumblebee,
no baseball’s parabolic arc,
when lips and tongues aren’t among
the universe’s graces,
and gravity and entropy
finally erase us
may this mind of mine be left to find
the equations of her beauty
in echoes of her hands’ and thighs’ collapse to singularity—
all curvature of Space confined
in the ache of eyes
for the sway her hips impart to Time.