This sonnet will not read like a sonnet, and will be genuinely difficult to parse—and that is its victory. I enjoy allowing structure to enact theme, and here it has landed better—and more painfully—than I have ever managed before. The first twelve lines—technically correct syllable count, technically correct rhymes—are ripped to shreds in the iamb department. The stresses are all over the place, completely ruining any hope of a typical pentameter. Meanwhile, the final couplet, which names this problem, is the only place that stress and rhyme fall where they should—and yet they are eleven syllables each, breaking the syllable rule. Its paradox is its message, and I’m humbled to see it work so well.
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I still remember how she saw me—saw
me like the venture meant not for her,
not her, not the way that I always saw
her—saw her like the only good answer.
I still remember learning how to love those
eyes—the ones that never quite could lay claim
on me, on the one whose eyes couldn’t close
without seeing hers there, held back the same.
I still remember how I saw her leave
me—leave me, leaving her the last time I
left her. I still recall I did believe
her when she said it with a teary eye.
And all the rhyme went out, as did the meter,
when ne’er again would I be blessed to see her.