Aug. 14^th

The form carries a one-way conversation,

site of separation brought into relief

A relationship between form and “the house”

the “I” that tried to run-away, walls of snow,

and how invisible the girl felt, small, bold

Wordsworth would never scorn the form, his ground O

it would take me years to kowtow to this earth

quake and still resist the good loam, the concrete

world, think of man’s enlightenment, follow paths

of beauty of sound of ideas and then dreams

The struggle for a way out, a faith in this,

through the house, past deaf-ears, into the snow filled

One forgets that the form is, a lamp transports

Oh the cold has clearly entered the sonnet