I did not write a villanelle today
The sun was weak and dirty like dead moon
I have my selfish reason to delay.
If the spirit speaks, will love allay?
Will we be left for dead with fresh new wounds?
I never wrote sweet villanelles today
What the people want strikes hard as clay
Salvation for humanity has bounds.
I have seen the saints and their decay.
For our sins, we have not been paid
Salvation for the tyrants came too soon
They did not write a villanelle that day
Logic is the frost that sears our wails.
Stalin, Hitler ,Jesus, what’s the tune?
In secret discourse, how can women pray?
In November’s grey and sunless ruin
Was the lost, eternal city doomed
I did not birth a villanelle today
I once had my own reason, it is where?
How my heart sings 