August Sonnets 1. this room is smitten by agalloch nothing placed above me except loneliness nothing is untouched by the body fever rises as the leaves keep falling rains and their fury-dance walls have seen art of a child now dead and gone between lost worlds of my agility and my ignorance in my grandmother's house of intimidation silence milks the men on sofa woman is always a butter, always a bread my hands are dictated by habit my eyes follow the memory-calendar I have kn