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Song’s sonnet is a lever lifting up

The lungs and heart to one you love and not

A basic form of poetry’s plain cup,

But is a chalice, wine, both spiked and hot

Held up with Host of Heaven.  In this form

Is transubstantiation of your love.

The lips it kisses take in passion’s storm.

Devotion comes within from far above.

The sonnet sequence is a lever made

To fulcrum constellations in a chest,

A chest of flesh, a chest of gold you prayed

For, cup and lever lifting up the best.

  The sonnet sequence floats up from a god

    Called loveliness we . . . long for . . . ever . . . awed.

© Phillip Whidden