moon ghazals: some notes

Now you have burned your books: you'll go
with nothing but your blind, stupefied heart.
                                                — John Thompson, Stilt Jack

What are the flaws to an April sky? An ache.
                                                — Sandra Ridley, Lift: Ghazals for C.

sped up in sequence
the body comes at us like art
as we hustle through
                                                — Phil Hall, An Oak Hunch

*

there are thousands of miles between this
& the previous line

all my tears are white; words before sleeping
if I stay clear of cars

my distractions will minor

the blessings of salt
& those unripe almonds

all of these bodies
I've been saving

a Saturday suspends
between fingers & toes

& these letters unsent

what lovers did when remembered,
the tongue a stretch wide

if I give you the ends of my earth,
would you then

*

there are bones that could break
under suddenly skin

through meditative arc

now that I walk; no longer
your little blue car & the sky

I would bronze my own hands
just for how they have touched you

Siddhartha teaches, all things
are impermanent

except for my love, which he could
not have known

fully clothed, I would break

I wish for this, a state
of such grace, lacking guile

& you; does it matter

*

you once said that love
not the same as desire

a river you can't
get swept up in twice

I am seeing a view
of the imperfect moon

what's left of me shudders

the advent of this, &
the advent of that

that beautiful combination
of danger & hope

patience a pearl
that improves as it's worn

*

in a hotel room
removing your clothes,

where we never were,
twice in a row

vibration the heartbeat
taken out of my chest

there is a side of the moon
facing cold empty space

& silence

make sure not to build there

one day all objects
will shed heavy meaning

& radio waves

of you, I am missing
the size & the shape

*

I am hardwired into
a showcase of stars

circling orbit

I can't tell where the water
comes out through the hose

a season of heat
& a season of mists

if this is economy

an Edmonton winter, an
Ottawa spring

I muscle down
betrayed by the heart

the lens of the seasons