To Shakespeare

Since it is the old boy's birthday, I thought I would write a sonnet in his honor.


To Shakespeare

One name always flits across my lips,
whenever I pick up my pen to write;
the face of Helen launched a thousand ships,
but who will I fall asleep with tonight?

The hulls of Homer’s ships are mussel shells
shattered on a rocky shore. His words
sigh at the salty surf, turning vessels
over to scavengers, insects, hungry birds

investigating skulls and skeletons.
But you are different, Will. When you speak,
you seem to talk to me. My finger runs
along your margins now, along your cheek,

retracing in your features all I’ve kissed
goodbye. You are the only man I miss.