String of Beads
A circle’s string of beads decks out a hook
beside a broken wishbone on a nail,
a mouse’s skull within a warded nook,
all relics hidden from the cyclone’s tail
and given me to make a summer song.
Sharp shadows thrown by arbitrary light
convinced my heart that time had right or wrong,
unlike the void that opened with the night;
that will could make things speak that had no tongue
and days be numbered in a wheel of sense
with grace, like beads so innocently strung
beside the broken bones for recompense—
but now I draw a breath in quick dismay
to find the sickly smell of sweet decay.
This sonnet previously appeared for the January Creative Challenge at Facial Expressions Poetry Circle, on Facebook