The summer sky at Trinity is bigger than in New York.
Still today, some can sense the past; peeking out from the edges of the clouds.
In the hush of the auditorium, I hear my words reverberate around the room.
Passing the open door by the stage, I see the poet who’s reading my poems. He is not me.
Open your eyes, look into the light, hush and wait for the glare to fade. See how gently
her robe falls open; wait for it all to shatter; wait for the vision to begin again.
The glacier calves again and again; each bergy bit set free; to roam the seas,
to evanesce, run aground, and scour the seabed. To finally disappear, forgotten and lost.
No, it’s not about you. It’s not about how you look or what you think –
it’s about her – how she haunts my dreams; ephemeral, fugitive, making me long for sleep.
I just submitted this ghazal to the poetry contest being hosted by Kayla Ann on her site – read more about the contest here: