Sonnet one two zip.
In my illusion  of minimalism, hammered steel, 
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of a time. The entity, o no,  
I should say the accretion settled down, a humble salve  
Soon spread over us both, lost, scattered trying to remember and  
  
Simply put, to understand how and now where wounds from speech are   
produced, which sort hits or fits, kind friend .... mimesis within nature,   
uppermost.   
How is sorrow possible, otherwise?