from Ghazals

111/

Afterglow is ex post facto fiction.
Listen to me resisting your new myth.

This moment of not wanting you equals
my not being wanted, losing myself.

Litmus test n’existe pas, criteria
for ears merely threatening to absorb.

Oak leaves must not be left to dry on lawns.
I would solo skate across that crispness.

Autumn’s sadness resurrects feeling loss.
School books fall to powder between my hands.

114/

Cantabile equals me when with you
the sea the scene the sequel to in-love.

Modesto early evening post light,
slight earnestness residual comme ça.

Eventness matters forthrightly as time’s
harsh retaliation blands us homeward.

Wallace blithely sandwiches himself in
claustro quarters, filaments of land mine.

Home hums ho ho heavely just like mother
in a state of delusion deluging.

116/

I breathe a windfall for you and you a-
lone wolf wandering beneath these full trees.

Happy gratitude day of rust colored
feathers, white and dark meat on a platter.

Revere the earned status of a fallback
position for theme and variations.

Minted facial features at last relax
into a smile versus surface tension.

I will sit with you and forget myself
to find a subtler self tucked in beneath.

118/

He wore bicycle clips on his trousers
in the house, on the walkway, confident.

Modesty condones keeping the head down.
Free of forecast, one deeply inhales light.

Chastity can’t be rehearsed easily.
She lifted the veil that her face might breathe.

Choice aspires to individual noblesse
usually found in its infancy.

Veer away from pawn shop spiritual
gleanings now a fraction of their value.