"The mesh" | 10

"There is no cure   for beauty's complication
there is no end   to trouble in love's game
however sure may seem   life's information
the book of death   unsettles every claim

the petals on the river   drift in spring
the autumn leaves   are carried by the breeze
the joy of meeting   is no trifling thing
the pain of parting   tastes of bitter lees"

I thought these things   the sonnet nodded slowly
my thoughts perhaps were mildly banal?
at times   I can't distinguish high from lowly
the sonnet finally spoke   "Remember Pal

all thoughts exist   within a mesh of meaning
the mesh is all that matters   that   & keening"



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