What do we find ourselves inside? The Roman army’s moving north. A sacrifice the snake won’t die. The oblations smoke is rising fourth. Wish you could fall in love with me. The sacrament’s the gateless gate. I could turn you back from a stream Fulfilling or escaping fate. The Garden’s walls are Persian blue Aladdin’s …
Continue reading “Sonnet #8 in Iambic Tetrameter – A White Hart”