"From forgotten music" [sonnet]

There are myriad yous   & there is but one you
ten thousand days   make one generation's span
if here the heart's gone orange   there it's done blue
while often-as-not one wanders   without plan
if to your eyes   some sign calls wisty notice
if in your gaze   there's aught awakens thought
were this a note   antiquity once wrote us?
or an echo   from forgotten music   caught?
eyes haven't descried   your walk across the stage
nor ears yet known   the tone your voice assumes
when   speaking   (from the memory of a page)
your tints & timbres   glimmer   through the room
    is this oddment   of a whimsy   in a letter
    a ribbon drifting vaguely   without fetter?


Index (with links) to sonnets on this blog is here.