Within a blade of grass, jade waters flow
In parallel perfection. One by one,
The slender, threadlike canyons carve below
A vert and sharp patina. Loomed and spun
Like gold, the verdigris and cashmere strings
Connect a bristly cosmos: close, the strands
Weave mesas over sunny earth that sings
A verdant theme. Somewhere within the bands
Of green, and buried deep, a mottled cache
Like widely-littered ore is strewn, its hues
Left hid from human eyes, a secret flash
Of honeyed streams: an aperture, chartreuse
And warm beneath the meadowed cliffs. The peaks
Loom high, while hushed, the slim lacuna speaks.
2 comments:
Hey, another sonnet! For this, I contemplated a blade of grass up close (hard to find in this weather), and then found microscopic images of grass to prompt me further. I just noticed there's a half rhyme early on, but I am not sure I care. Seems all right to me.
And you had me thinking of stinky ole Walt Whitman and his wonderful little expose when I saw the title.
A blade of grass offers so much, since it made quite a tidy, yet imagery-laden 14 decasyllabic lines! And to think all flesh is grass. (Is 40:6)
Wowers. Impressive vocabulary for that simple member of creation, a taste it seems likewise of the southwest with the mesa reference.
Sweet. I like it very well.
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