Sonnet

With No Advantage

The Gilded Fear That Guides the Flow

Of Everything That Rhymes

Is in Its Clearest Form

An Image Apart From Ourselves

Whose Palms Create

As Would a Weaver

A Shade of Celadon

So Etched in Memory

Upon the Break Arch

That Wounded Weathered

Shut-Ins on Sunday See

The Very Edge of Its Flame

And Relent