Saturday, August 10, 2013

Certain Late Questions For Margaret Miller
(a sonnet)


Is it only because we use words   to get at meaning
that our words may become   the medium of our tale?
what if grief is a kind of inverted awe?   is keening
laughter inside-out? whereas when we allow   words fail

do we mean   our feelings exceed   our frame of reference?
or do we but vaguely confess   verbal inability?
words of saints & masters   stealthily win our deference
do they hold   a secret of subtlety   & fragility?

or a thing more weighty than gold   more shining than flame?
and what of the Silent Master?   who will explain how
even he packs words?   there's gunpowder in that name!
if an A-bomb blasts   does one-fourth really remain   while

in a trice   three-fourths of a never-was world   are gone?
could a novel horizon   limn  unambiguous dawn?

1 comment:

Jeanne Kerr said...

Dear David,
You weave light ambiguity with deep explosives in this richly diverse sonnet; mirroring Dear Margaret.'s presence.
This beautiful creation meanders through a heart felt journey. Margaret is undoubtedly honored to receive this beautiful gift.
Love how you shine your focused light in tiny crevices that would otherwise go undetected.