Shortest night

Here is a poem of little consequence I wrote in April, and here is a sonnet I wrote this past fall.

I don't know whether I've been going through one of my periods of social withdrawal, or if my life is just in one of its summer-patterns where I'm not liable, in the normal course of things, to encounter socializing without actively working for it (which I've been distracted from doing). Clearly I haven't been feeling called to write in my journal, which may or may not be a clue. The lack is starting to itch a little, though.