Sonnet

My heart lives in a bird cage made of bones. Sometimes I think it is not worth all the pain in the world to have this inside my body, to endure being wracked with pain at the tiniest things. But then comes along a poem that tries to rattle the life out of me, and suddenly I am grateful for the skin and flesh that holds this body, that keeps my heart from leaping out of my chest.

**Sonnet**

*Bill Knott*

The way the world is not

astonished at you

it doesn’t blink a leaf

when we step from the house

leads me to think

that beauty is natural, unremarkable

and not to be spoken of

except in the course of things

the course of singing and worksharing

the course of squeezes and neighbors

the course of you, tying back your raving hair to go out

and the course, of course, of me

astonished at you

the way the world is not.