21.

In the middle of Autumn
early when the skies
show the dawn
still hovering in the trees
and the geese, a series
of arrows, break form
for another unknown bird
that catches our eyes,
I can’t return.
While overhead one storm
in the bird’s neck feathers carries
the dampness of the journey

soaked with our laughs and whispers
in the subterfuge of happiness.

“Sonnet, October 1984” by Joseph Ceravolo

Advertisements

About Amber Donofrio

A recent college grad, writer, contemporary art enthusiast, avid reader, baker, writing tutor, blogger, and aspiring art critic (among other goals).
This entry was posted in Literature and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s