"The flow" [sonnet]

What are the little poems that they should call
the readers of the world to pay them heed?
I clack them on the keyboard or I scrawl
words longhand to fulfill an obscure need
escorting me through the days & moons & years
around the bend   beyond the wicker fence
like bicycles I ride them   autumn nears
though summer now the drifting world presents
and spring & winter too   appear & leave
while leafing through debris of poetry's blather
sometimes they're hopeful   other times they grieve
the world disperses all that one might gather
  the poems must likewise fade   & join the flow
  that's pulling against the shade   an undertow