Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal, with recording)

 

 

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.

 

 

11 thoughts on “Listening to Cicadas, I See Charlottesville (Ghazal, with recording)

  1. Great reading, and sound track. Thought-provoking.
    “Shearing syllables, I learn the language of half-truth” … leaves me wondering if I shear syllables through habit, if I hear what I want to hear even if it’s only half-truth, if some of the things I “hear” are but half-truth reinforcement of fears that defy speaking …

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Love it
    Just exploring Ghazals after reading about the life of poet John Thompson, born a street away – he thought in ghazals! Amazing ghost in the machine form without form that you’ve captured so well.

    Liked by 1 person

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