Winner of Laureates' Choice Award at Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest
(Online - August 2018)
Tonight the latest April sky, a sky
I rarely venture out to see, is filled
with smallish change: a quarter moon and stars
like dimes that spend their tiny light on eyes
a million billion miles away. But still,
with her away, they do not seem as far.
If I could fly away, or fly at all
—had wing enough or wind enough—I’d fly
across the empty miles of senseless air
to where I know she waits, and then I’d fall
like starlight, lightly, kiss her face and eyes
and never fly away again from there.
We cannot stay, but always we must go;
the home we seek’s the only home we know.