Sonnets in Place of a Subject The sky resolves into a deeper hue Saying nothing that we might understand, As though it were opaque and yet see-through, As though it were a riddle of the things And not the things themselves. Sky without land. The sun’s motion as it seems to pause. The bee that’s felt only in its stings. At the highest latitude, it is the blue Of twilight and night-shining clouds. The essence of nature’s arbitrary laws. Each one absolute in cause and effect Remains convincing yet forever shrouds The art that we freely would elect In solitude, but which is lost in crowds.
The air is its own apparent meaning More than merely sound, the lyrics form A grammar to cast a spell and something stirs Leaving listeners hushed already gleaning That what they can’t explain is live and warm, Enchanting spectral rooms where it avers But never makes a statement. A great refusal To take sides. With no moral ambition. Pure sympathy comprehending all. In place of any subject, every cognition A version of the song to woo its mate, Happy when the poem finds its young, Yet sad at the prospect of their fate. Its only purity that the song be sung. Jefferson Holdridge
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