Once, I loved. (A Ghazal)
Far the eagle leaps above the snowcapped rise of fortune
as a vagrant laboring low for wayward tithes of fortune.
Riving apples, sodden brown, sprawl cloven upon miry knolls.
Here my basket, lush with breeze, awaits, remise of fortune.
For how long shall my errant hands race the blazing seasons?
This brittle wicker too, hungers for one sunrise of fortune.
I pang for one kiss—a dawn’s delight. My shadow alone grazes.
But yours, in mirrored tales, tarries among untended eyes of fortune.
Silent love is a burden to unsheathe; a glint of steel to awaken.
And I, abandoned to the eagle, arise to parry, blythe of fortune.