Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal)

Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal)

Shedding one coat, you live in the red, apart
from the rest. Never together, forever apart.

In this sun-drenched field, the cracks drill deeper,
wider, dribbling soil and small lives, expanding, apart.

What falls truer than any words released from this man?
Once divided, never again to touch, always apart.

The electric shrill fluctuates pitch, in unison. Hundreds
of tymbals, shredding dusk, now together, then apart.

You narrow your eye to a slit, but still see the entire
spectrum. Wing clicks, stridulation. Whole yet apart.

Shearing syllables, I learn the language of half-truth.
What is my name? I reach for that fragment. It falls apart.

35 thoughts on “Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal)

  1. Strong – sets my brain into a spin! Can be read at least two ways … poet observing metaphor … but also: what if “this man” is capable of observing his own falling, his own “always apart”? Would he be capable of changing his pattern, halting his “electric shrill”? (Something to ponder as I struggle with understanding you-can-guess-who.)

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I love this, Robert. The metaphor of the cicada song–yes, it does seem this country is forever apart. I really admire how you did this as a ghazal. (And weirdly, I was thinking about ghazals about a week ago.) 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thanks, Merril. I hadn’t attempted ghazals in quite a while, but a month or so ago I started writing them again. I didn’t manage to include all of the conventions in this one, but somehow that’s the way the poem flows.

      Liked by 1 person

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