Sonnet

Much have I traveled in the realms of old —
when I like some watch the skies,
and silent sit and ponder what I see —
these words fit the spaces of the lines.
Even if the sonnet betrays the uncertainty
in my mind. I am standing at the edge
of something larger. In these closed
books, I discuss at length. People linger
on the words in these poems, and sometimes
on the title, not quite reading them —
but not leaving either. The words sit
before them, and wait. Waiting poems,
in light of a discussion on possibility.
They ponder the possibility of change.