16th of 177...

Sonnet 06/11/01                        DCXXIII

My dear Rebecca Lynn, I cannot say
What might my verse inspire. I do not know
How I might find the vision I would show.
I look for words that feed my dreams, that play
Within my heart: I seek lines that display
Part of desires. Can I hope to heart hold,
Or even to some aspect of dreams mold?
Without my dreams, my words are less than clay.

I feed my sonnets with desire; I sow
The seeds of verse within my dreams. For light,
I look to hope: For rain, I seize my tears
Of sorrow, or of joy. Yet, will lines grow?
I harvest from dreams images, at night,
To place on page, and hold throughout the years.