” Nurado’s sonnets have no rhyme scheme, are meter-free, and are 14 lines, with a volta when you go from the two quatrain into the the concluding tercets. This is consistent with an Italian (or Petrarchan sonnet). ”
Here he sells his wares, the sidewalk his shop,
He’s weary of unlookers, keeping his clay jar’s burning incense.
I stand nearby, asking myself, “For what reason,
Do these fires burn? What wares has he purloined today?”
And stones gathered against the burnt sienna fence,
Mark that, this is his place, where he works and lives.
Hocks his wares, keeps the fire’s in the jars stoked,
Tiny stoves remain lit from dawn until midnight.
His goods move quick, I’m quite surprised,
To me they’re nothing much, yet, I buy a wood carving.
With a crumpled bill and pocket coins, freely given.
My fingers slide over dips and ridges, measure his small carving,
Such intricate, minute detail; but never have I found —
Why the clay fires forever burn, incense floating to the heavens.