Sometimes (Unsweetened)
I sometimes understand that we’ll all die,
without last try-again.
No refill of siphoned sand,
do-over (do what we can).
And that I too, and all I love, will die.
And my cry does not call
like the mourning dove, a fall/
rise, but has no interval.
—an Englyn unodi union
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Here’s my attempt at an Englyn unodi union (whatever that is!), a Welsh form, for dVerse Poets Pub. Form for All. For more info, check out the wonderful article by Sue Judd and Gay Reiser Cannon at dVerse. All I can say is that it’s a syllabic form with a slightly odd rhyme scheme that probably works better in Welsh or in someone else’s hands.
But since my two-stanza version has (with the title and little identifying material at the end, exactly 55 words, please also tell it to the G-Man.)
P.S. The photo is of the old Domino Sugar Factory in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
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