Thursday Sonnet: Becoming Spring (II)

And now my mind’s a bas-relief in Rome,
Her maps reflect my own, my stories are
Her smaller bible. In my cornerstone
And arch now you are shining like a star;
But though you’re firm in the solarity
That draws my city’s skies, I still don’t know
Your reasons. For you’re not the clarity
Of summer, nor the mercy of the snow,
Nor yet the tender radiance autumn chants
In waves of light from puddles still as lakes,
On post-October streets where sunlight slants:
These things are what is made, and not what makes;
While you are the foundation myth of spring
Whose vapours lost in whispering I sing.