Antidote: A Sonnet

A verse written 14 years ago. May all find shelter in this time of distress. 

Antidote
 
The mechanisms of the brain can break
When catastrophic loss pierces mind with grief;
No word nor touch may this hard cut unmake:
Grief’s dirk strikes deep, a wound beyond relief.
Some curse their lot, some weep, some pray, some mar
Their furtive sleep in hopes that carnal cures
Convince their bleeding gash to turn to scar--
All such devices trick, beguile, lure.
Now I, though lanced by grief, confess this May
Has rounded me with healing convent walls;
Here mockingbird and robin plainsongs sing;
This path is church with fragrant, blossomed halls.
            When winter’s icy blade next makes me prey,
            I beg, sweet Christ, to recollect this day.