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Thursday, April 13, 2023

Sentiero (“The Path” by Pierre-Auguste Renoir), Sonnet #601

















No path is inarticulate,

But none reaches a point.

I walk when the day is late

And with silent steps anoint

The dusky air with thought —

Not mine, only that sought

Among the clustered leaves and vine,

Wind-rustled, indecipherable design.

I meet you coming the other way,

With black suit, cane, and bowler hat.

You bow, but have nothing to say,

Because you are neither this nor that.

I walk right through you and smile

At the path beckoning mile upon mile.


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