Sonnet I

Do click beetles ever dare dream of flight;

and wings become feathers in their mind’s eye?

The dragon spouted winds care not their plight,

As if to flip they race into the sky.

Amid old steel mills, warehouses and dust,

With souls hardened by grey smoke and blue flame;

So longing for freedom with skyly lust,

Brown broken spines at long last they must tame.

As falcon drops, so they, as hopeful, mirror,

and kiwi wings float on the unseen breeze.

Living in Dante’s nightmare ever clear,

Looming frog shadow and eviction seize.

To hope for much while falling ever low,

Never to reap, yet ever trapt to sow.