I am not sure I like sonnets
She says
But I like to make a little sound
Or song
We have been left behind
I think
The dusk creeps upon us
We wrap ourselves in towels
And blankets
Silently cry
Whirl in circles
Our own dance
We think of the times
When the sand seeped through our toes
We cannot unlike these times
Perhaps we argued
Perhaps we sang
Always we found ourselves
A little strange
Both sapling
And grown tree
When we are close to the wire
She sucks her thumb
And if she does
I do too
This is our reckless sonnet
Forever it will sing
And sway.
