In the style of Petrarchan sonnet
Anger and Fear
Hello my friend, who speaks unwittingly,
A telling, nervous look, a peaking glance
To no one in particular. Happenstance,
It seems that I must do it forcefully.
I seek the writing facing me, not free
To leave my friend: I am truly askance.
For it must be a merry little dance.
But finally, as now, I seek your need.
When I see my soul’s piercing, strident eye,
I see not the treachery of thy move
That brought my thoughtless flush of anger;
The brightness swallowing the spacious sky.
It’s coming down but slowly, like a dove,
By flashing not at you, but my Fear.
Originally written March 15, 1991