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Sunday, July 23, 2023

Grecian Elbow (Michael Antman), Sonnet #607




















Nature knows few right angles.

Man tends to abjure the curved.

Last night the moon swerved

To miss a cloud. The sun dangles.


The old white oak blown down,

Scattered its broken branches.

The wind passed on without a sound

In invisible avalanches.


Some windows are an open cage

Door with nothing inside to show.

Some walls mimic an empty page —

One’s painted with a golden elbow.


We know nothing we don’t realize

With or without our golden eyes.

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