I wrote the entirety of this devotional sonnet last night, in a local parking garage that has become a favorite meditative spot. The steaminess of the even was thought, by most, excessive.

Sonnet CXLIV

Moist nights, they are not visible, but do
Give solace to my lonely, plumpened lips.
Though clouds above obscure, the skies accrue
Effulgent graces, and when cover slips
Away, I see them, stones in watery
Muck trenches. For the Lord does not allow
The fundamental goods that break us free
To shelter with too great persistence. Now,
The midnight's allegory in my mind,
A rosary of knighthood in my hand,
I sit upon a wall and pray in kind,
And near believe cement will understand
And echo my devotion like a spouse,
In praise of Him Who made us both by choice.

The mysteries, or course, were the Glorious.