I remember teacups rattled when the subway
rumbled beneath the sidewalk and a man
whose muse was dynamite stood high
his mouth ringed with fire and his hands raised
in prayer, how the glasses shook before they broke
ice exploding into air. It was spring and snow
blew carillons, the Latin mass effaced by time
resurrected by the storm, warm crocuses
in mid March froze and fell in place, the disguise
that held so long erased in a spasm of truth
that has passed, the dishes cracked in the racked
silence, I awoke to sun my face in a lightbulb
suspended lifeless from the ceiling, its nimbus
webbed by spiders and the taloned shadow of sleep
Like a drone ride through a frozen 3d photo. And ‘nimbus’ – that might have been enough on its own.
Thank you, Stuart. One animated by you! and scored.
I really like this, Jon. What type of sonnet is this?