Sonnet

I know that my profile will be serenein the north of an unreflecting sky.

Mercury of vigil, chaste mirrorto break the pulse of my style.  For if ivy and the cool of linenare the norm of the body I leave behind,
my profile in the sand will be the oldunblushing silence of a crocodile.  And though my tongue of frozen doveswill never taste of flame,
only of empty broom,  I'll be a free sign of oppressed normson the neck of the stiff branchand in an ache of dahlias without end.