Dana Ward: Harry's Sonnet
poem from 'Harry's Sonnet'
by Dana Ward
Since you were never dear to me
& tried to starve me like a gown
there's a sound in this dredge of Elysium
where I drink to your fabulous dumbness
& giant anvils I mined in the clouds
elate at the thought of your heads
before I took my shape & bent it
or christened amends in my making
I moored one entire Tuesday fomenting beauty in a phone booth
& it's harps now follow me everywhere
that music, fond casusarie, mottled over time
into something like bomb disturbed water
after some while I was wildly unsure
thus made up several lifetiems for leeway.
From Can We Have Our Ball Back.