by alice yobby
love sonnet
the poppy doves and voices
echo to none but you, my love
standing hand and drunk foot
as ballets dripped with mud
until turning the apathy
impenetrable length, red in its air
meets your eyes
empty weight of infinite detail
perfect mountains done
by your same art dressing it gold
where fear was, you enter and love untired
where agony is incomplete
again waking and again waking
shut-eyed and suddenly
directions
down aspen wall
right forest shores
immediate right on dirt road
trespass
another right
alice is a poet and vagabond.