Sonnet From Stone
If I could fashion wind like men sculpt clay
And cut away the shapes that touch the ground,
Leaving but the current that blows the day
Into the night and makes a silver sound;
Then you could throw your kite into the sky,
And I on happenstance would wander near
With sculpture that when breathed out like a sigh
Would bear your kite like music soothes the ear;
But I possess an inconsistent art,
My tools not made for cutting wind from stone
Nor carving to emancipate the heart
Nor bringing peace to those who are alone;
Yet with this pen all sculptors’ skills are mine,
All worlds are yours with but a single line.
