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


About Amber Donofrio

A writer, contemporary art enthusiast, and nature appreciator divided between coasts.
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