Sonnet for Alaska

There is a song that blossoms in my brain
a melody I cannot push away,
she weaves her way into my heart, the pain
that taints all thoughts of love with sharp disdain.

The song is her, she is the song that kills
each synapse with a memory that shoots
the equilibrium, my body heals
around the lacerations, blessed wounds.

I knew that girl, hamartia, skin --
at least I thought I'd memorized her form;
the smoke and dust that filled her from within. . .
can anybody truly know a storm?

The chord, it lingers, God on the sustain;
my heart, it seeks the north, her old refrain.