SONNET 110
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at
sunset, years before you were born.
~ Borges, Two English Poems
You're the miracle that balanced my mind and heart,
The riddle which gruntled bliss, scaled its furnace;
For thy meekness sweet humbled this triumphal arch
Onerous to minty grass, to blaze, to solace --
All regards now for you are tender and satiate
Couths found elsewhere and nevertheless deserted,
Yet lustered; words therein your palm found me festered,
Incessantly. Such care and passion acquiréd
Only white-collar intention, that reign, that bliss,
That healing stones accord with whimsicalities,
Though some remissed a cascade gentler must it slope
It's terror, impasse, gloats these romanticists.
For though all had hopes corrode -- at least mine undone --
When, not all this luck in love, has your beauty won.
