Sonnet: “Your Eyes Stray”
Your eyes stray over to the verso side of the book
where you learn that short-term prospects are not
indeed good. The hero wanders into a labyrinth
of desire that would have daunted Casanova, or at
least given him pause. The grass is always greener
on the other side of the street, as it’s said. Mellow
as ever, the summer wends its way autumn-ward,
one fedora almost as good as another at covering
that bald spot. And the war strays over yet another
border on its way to wherever it’s going. Insurgents
mount incessant attacks, no matter how much we do
to assuage them. No, sir, the pastorale is not dead.
Willows trail their branches in blood-red streams.
The sheep on the hill wear their furs inside-out.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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