Sarah Burgoyne: three sonnets



          at the enunciation of you, bloom
                                                                      of witch broom
          autumn. love brocades its long lung game
                              and lets me in your house.          running
          the cold gold line to find you,

          a slender limb rushing as flex or bright
          animal bough, especially opiate around
          the night-mouth of a mollusk or urchin, an opal is you
used for grasping, moon-mouth, aloof, moving
          about, your moon-bearing sense organs, vervain (in this, a gazebo)
          a light which is the moon 
(in a plant) a tendril
          the night’s noon or a tender glandular hair.
                                                            a look across the mim-
          icking glass, the form which
          is sound and pines bursting with ice, my voice
          is the spider in your alley, it’s haunting         


          encircled by something resembling glass (frozen)
          a tentacle in shape is a pine or flexing branch aft-
          er an ice storm trailing here, my table, my tentacles all-
          found of vapour.
                                              each day’s door crawl, the neg-
          atizing night (whose reach is this?) i spend
          the lid of it, seething my mark (to carry me well). in-
          sidious the reaches spread dumb-dug,
          out of influence sending myself and one-
          of-many-in-it (control) play me over
          the party its world of recoverers (tentacles) a certain
          dam reached (into) every nook i am
          queen and cranny of it i eat very well now to feel,


          i am at stake with you          most locked
          monster winged female          a head of hair
          you keep me, naught-side   this          unlike snake          thiss
          garden corner.
                                                           hey unsung arms
          bronze me mortal and formidable          a snake shower
          still tonguing gold                   cut off my head
          i’ll bloom a horse          blood-flung like everything, you
          alter chaotic                                                                      i turn stones by the sea
          i boil          can’t stay
                                                       at the foot, night’s
          sandal (in the lines of it) the branches fall. obtain
          them. a lank,          lock
                                                       at least


                            unoriginal forgiveness

          grant it give it away

                                                       my life spread

          thick          to bring a storm

                                                                         to the country of health.

Sarah Burgoyne’s first collection _Saint Twin_ was nominated for the A.M. Klein Prize in Poetry, and her work has been shortlisted for the Montréal Poetry Prize. She lives in Montréal.