Following Maya's Lead
Here is a sonnet from my book "IN RETREAT"
Of lively weeds there are varied hidden strains
That seize up in the joints of flexible life
And entwine the limbs that stride toward belief
That dreams can be reached without cloying pains.
Round and round the tendrils snake and seek to bind
The heart's resolve to balance loving and duty's
Call to job, and spirit and hunt for security's
Protection against the slow loss of peace of mind.
Memories are like burrs that lay quietly hidden
until they nestle beneath loving's patchwork quilt
and cause restless, dreadful nights and unfocused guilt
and fear that self and caring will be forbidden.
A weed is only a flower in a wheat field,
Unwanted for the fruit it does not yield.