Too long athirst

Keats Sonnet

Photograph by Richard Moss

Used with Permission

Too long athirst


It is an amorous sun that claims love's silhouette...
umbrage set afire, slipping silently through the door
we cast off the unthinkable to feel October's heat.

We fear not, the sable breath of dusk that whispers, yet
the zealous wind fans the flames of passions ardent roar
and we become that which we seek; harmonic, gold.

I sense the earth's approval, with bare and burning feet;
it moves for us, in voice and tone we'll not soon forget,
this is a season we will celebrate with breathtaking awe.

Yesterday was lackluster in its pouring; a dull inked sheet
hung lazily on an aching line, alabaster bright, but cold...
covetous, love turns that limp page, rises and draws breath.

Too long athirst we bathe in burning light, its ardor bold,
and stay caught in this season with each small, ecstatic death