Lost Sonnets

Unseen hands steal sonnets,

Plucking poems from the ether,

And rhymes from the rivers.

But heiti and kennings continue,

To greet the grasp of thieves,

With elderflower on the trees,

And the scent of honeysuckle.

Constellations conspire to fool,

Mountains with mysteries.

And collude to confuse,

Seas with synchronicities.

For magic must prevail,

Under a palette of pastel tones,

Or the shadow of standing stones.

For here is the home of tranquil hills,

A canopy of Celtic idylls,

That lead to lunar sands,

And protect precious golden strands.

Now is the ferment of new ideas,

Encased in a glass of crimson velvet.

All breathe a common breath.

The universe, the one song,

Flickering flames of memories,

Moments in my mind,

Dare not now or ever dwindle.