I’ll craft a narrow sonnet.
I so respect the form.
I’ll forge a small trail through it,
my own quest for truth and warmth.
What is the place in modern life
for verses made to fit the ways
the great word-masters hewed and plied
and shared their soulful trades?
I have one humble answer:
This yoke of gated limits
helps us find our way to banter
one-on-one with the infinite.
In truth, this process feeds us.
And more: mystery meets us.
Poem #23 of 30 for National Poetry Writing Month April 2016