Four sonnets

Abstract

FOUR SONNETS

XXI
Thought is born blind, but thought knows what it sees.
Her careful touch unravels shapes from form,
But its form is still "nothing", whose true "being"
He is just finding a touch with the lost veil of darkness.
But from where, to from the guessed scene, it will touch
Teach us that touch is just a feeling of being close and empty?
And how to reach a mere touch, insufficient to oneself
The whole mind of some feeling - the truth itself woven?