The Gate of the Night (Paul Klee), Sonnet #568

 

The vagaries of thought,

Less what is than is not,

Impossible windows,

Into, out, no wind blows,

And no light pierces lights,

But open gates of nights

Where, like a crystal jar,

Spins only one bright star

Placing all in its place

In emptiness of space,

(I am a meadowlark —

I don’t sing in the dark),

Where all’s in good order

Outside my own border.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

My Human Disguise.

Carpet of Memory 2 (Paul Klee), Sonnet #537

“Flying carpet” might be more apt,

Fleeing, unreachable, rapt.

Not magical, but uncanny,

Not even real, epiphany

Without a point because it is

Not up to analysis.

We’re given only a number —

How many can’t be counted, known —

(Fraying threads, fabric unsewn).

“I’m certain that I remember,”

I say. The carpet flaps. I fall.

Can I recall one thing at all?

The memories that I most fear

Are those I hope to lose next year.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here: My Human Disguise.