Using the challenging yet intensely musical ghazal form, Scott Wiggerman takes us inside the mind of a man questioning his relationship.
—
Fall Equinox
starting with a Dickinson line (#419)
We grow accustomed to the dark when light is put away.
I count like a child from one to ten. Light is put away.
We complicate the future, though nothing should be simple.
Inside my pocket: a key, a coin, a pen. Light is put away.
Do you hear the fire engines, car alarms, nocturnal cries?
In the city, the bedroom, the den—light is put away.
The fury of an owl’s attack, followed by a nervous silence.
We question shadows on the wall when light is put away.
And what of devotion? Are you and I as fickle as a cat?
Go on, it’s okay to think of other men. Light is put away.
The many chambers of the heart—which persona tonight?
We think of what is now, what has been. Light is put away.
We close our eyes, but sleep is not a cure for love.
The last of the moonflowers blooms; then light is put away.
***
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