grace

… filling in the negative space with positively everything

Soneto Para Encontrarte

I will wake up in a foreign city and walk
each morning with no direction no map
no guide only the kind citizens chatting
endlessly about apples and brass I will talk
until the air tastes like meat and whiskey
and the brisk step of beggars will not wake me
to the canons of desire each voice counterpoint
to a coin’s winter sting each sour note a ducat
paying my crawl toward the first dying the first
‘O’ the first swig and chug of grief
So when
a woman holds my face between her knees Her child
already dreaming of a father suddenly gone I will kneel
and murmur She will arch and wheel and I
will eat and drink like this ’til holy kingdom come

– by Patrick Rosal

Soneto Para Encontrarte

I will wake up in a foreign city and walk
each morning with no direction no map
no guide only the kind citizens chatting
endlessly about apples and brass I will talk
until the air tastes like meat and whiskey
and the brisk step of beggars will not wake me
to the canons of desire each voice counterpoint
to a coin’s winter sting each sour note a ducat
paying my crawl toward the first dying the first
‘O’ the first swig and chug of grief
So when
a woman holds my face between her knees Her child
already dreaming of a father suddenly gone I will kneel
and murmur She will arch and wheel and I
will eat and drink like this ’til holy kingdom come

– by Patrick Rosal

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