7
-8
-9
-10
-11
-12
GhazalThe puppy paused, then leapt at the dark lilac,announced this prey, this late movement. In the museum of my childhood I switched on light. The dull crystal, tubes of opaque liquid, rocks, went luminous like the purple heart my father earned. I thought a carved stone stayed embedded in his chest. Whatever I see--ring of laced silver hearts my teen-ager wears; her pencil sketch, a convoluted web of hearts, indeciperable as all languages I've attempted and failed. At midnight, the scent is so loud I don't sleep. The fat lilac seized. |
Return --
Previous --
Next
Issue #10, June, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.