The Clearest, Flawless Sonnet
A sonnet made of silence set in lines
Of comet-white intensity I want,
The music of the spheres as heard in shrines
Of Taj Mahal shaped characters, a font
Of purest marble alphabets that shine
Inside because of soundless Klieg light flames.
Pale white, gods only could discern divine
Near whisperings that pulse from circle frames
Of Saturns made transparent by the blank
Of covert songs. Mute words and stars would rhyme
In constellations. Moons and worlds would flank
The muteness of the poetry. The chime
Of secrets never heard because their gush
Is throttled would produce the metered hush.