Cold Morning
(I never do this, but for once: these April Sonnets are meant to be read together, but since only a few are here, this group is about the hidden content of experience that we ever only get glimpses of and immediately make into something familiar. Something like what Buddhists call such-ness, Adorno called spirit.)
24.
Cold morning grey sky no wind snow aubade
the snow returns sunlight all white sterile,
trees turn away when looked at turn back toward
us when we look away, a hint of feral
scent of wolf and bear of rare iguana
to these parts of albatross and yeti
lists defer forgetting; bananas
the low-hanging fruit of silliness
remind us we are nothing less than nothing
a silly tune we half-recall in sleep
on waking have become at least the sodding
melody keeps running we are sheep
the goats laugh at hysterics we foretell
mistaking of beliefs for wishing wells
25.
Sleeping in a well of yellow darkness
below the night a cavern opens
on Captain Nemo and the monster from Loch Ness
a groundwater lake a hundred meters sunken
we scrape the narrow well-walls falling
splash in liquid darkness almost ice
from everywhere a half-light yellow neon
perhaps the all-color of emptiness
when witnessed as it seems almost a hailing
a universal greeting making-nice
one spud to another here’s the load
you earned or didn’t never quite entailing
not avoidable exactly in place
without form but pending; asks, make it so?
The Dog Star 
2 Responses to “Cold Morning”
You have to dig deep in the toolbox to reflect new light on the ineffable. These use humor to do so, quite effectively. As my teacher often advises poets: buy low. Very nice.
Thanks Bro! I’m learning much from my experiments with sonnets. One can do the surrealist post-modern almost-free association in an old format.