55: As living record a period sonnet doubts softness but addresses enmity — nor can we outlive this, against death, advancing slowly.
Not marble nor rhyme so move. Dropping the nor verb mood... the fun workout once was of a soul, a tone cucumber if I were a colorist in Lyon.
So why am I dwelling on posterity like a warrior groom?
My lover’s eyes shine brighter than all the wealth coming into the poem...

You and I lived in this prospect — oblivious, uninvited, I brought guests — death and memory, statues overturned. I...

Even in death’s eyes, we find quick fire for wearing out memory’s velocity — ask (or shall I ask) shall I?

Nor is posterity at rest.