Four Ghazals
For Tony Frazer
Glass
Dazzle of mid-day sun, a flare in the mirror
Bleeds into evening darkness here in the mirror
Perfect plane of cheekbone, faint shadow of smooth skin
Again you turn away, so near in the mirror
A breeze turns the page of a dream, another room
Reflection of the chandelier in the mirror
Rupture of faces undulating in half-light
The branches of the tree appear in the mirror
The rippling surface pools, I fool myself tonight
Still longing to see your smooth hair in the mirror
This is the stopping off point: your face framed in gilt
Those days undone, world so unclear in the mirror
You fade in stages, the way clouds envelop sun
The way white sky becomes bright glare in the mirror
In silvered glass, night gathers the absence of light
Endless drift as you disappear in the mirror
I watch your face retreat into bleached inversion
Your dark eyes now a ghost white stare in the mirror
Bouquet
Who put them in ‘The Hemlocks’ these Midwest flowers
On a summer’s day, 1902, pressed flowers
Who bent near, inspected waxy leaves at sunrise
Then gathered, like her skirts, only the best flowers
The page where they lay bears the blood of the rib vein
And a lover whose promise laid to rest flowers
A smudge of earth at the edge and she’s on her knees
Deep in warm soil, ripping at roots of meshed flowers
How the blackening fire razes green to the ground
Bramble rose, wild orchid surrender crushed flowers
I haunt the silence looking for an impression
Stencilled on paper amongst the forest flowers
Tonight I will search for your ghost on the roadside
Empty my heart like those eyes of bluest flowers
Quill
Where the primaries join the manus, a flume of feathers
Thrust on the downstroke, spinning in air, a rune of feathers
Spread like fingers, heavier than bone, they yield in such flight
To every silent lift of wind and breeze, swoon of feathers
A sensation in the ear helps to locate the updraft
Eyes aloft I stand astonished in a room of feathers
Difficult to comprehend, this hard keratin in skin
A subterfuge with contour, tail, pin, grim loom of feathers
Out in their boats the fishermen dream of Hagoramo
Dancing in moonlight, wearing a bright costume of feathers
Beneath the swell, the flotsam of lost days drifts slowly down
Silver stardust sifting to a grey lagoon of feathers
The season recedes in a curl of smoke and damp weather
I without you at the threshold in a gloom of feathers
We glide along alone, the stretched tips of our wings shifting
Over still distance, through the long afternoon of feathers
All the time tilting and turning in air, this pair, fatal
Pinion she accelerates toward ground, a womb of feathers
Now unfurl, inhabit her form in full: rough quill, tough tines
One way, the other rub a sudden soft bloom of feathers
Window
Locust trees emboss the moon in half-light
In the glass your shadow floats in lamplight
Beyond, the future stays silent, shrouded
Such darkness intersects the bright moonlight
La jalousie, a small-town street, rings round
The moon foretelling of storm at daylight
A hummingbird hangs outside the window
Red nectar explodes in morning sunlight
Early chinking tumbles into birdsong
You pick up a leaf, breathe in the white light
Up above, the world's a picture window
Dormer, double bay, wide unframed skylight
Water, mirror, window, promise of it
You float downstream, eyes reflecting pale light
Now take all you can hold through the glass, join
The astral slipstream, lie down in starlight
The stars sheen opalescent, out of range
Sky of mazarine blue in the twilight
Out here there are no shadows, shape-shifting
Or seasons: every pinprick warms like firelight
For Tony Frazer
Glass
Dazzle of mid-day sun, a flare in the mirror
Bleeds into evening darkness here in the mirror
Perfect plane of cheekbone, faint shadow of smooth skin
Again you turn away, so near in the mirror
A breeze turns the page of a dream, another room
Reflection of the chandelier in the mirror
Rupture of faces undulating in half-light
The branches of the tree appear in the mirror
The rippling surface pools, I fool myself tonight
Still longing to see your smooth hair in the mirror
This is the stopping off point: your face framed in gilt
Those days undone, world so unclear in the mirror
You fade in stages, the way clouds envelop sun
The way white sky becomes bright glare in the mirror
In silvered glass, night gathers the absence of light
Endless drift as you disappear in the mirror
I watch your face retreat into bleached inversion
Your dark eyes now a ghost white stare in the mirror
Bouquet
Who put them in ‘The Hemlocks’ these Midwest flowers
On a summer’s day, 1902, pressed flowers
Who bent near, inspected waxy leaves at sunrise
Then gathered, like her skirts, only the best flowers
The page where they lay bears the blood of the rib vein
And a lover whose promise laid to rest flowers
A smudge of earth at the edge and she’s on her knees
Deep in warm soil, ripping at roots of meshed flowers
How the blackening fire razes green to the ground
Bramble rose, wild orchid surrender crushed flowers
I haunt the silence looking for an impression
Stencilled on paper amongst the forest flowers
Tonight I will search for your ghost on the roadside
Empty my heart like those eyes of bluest flowers
Quill
Where the primaries join the manus, a flume of feathers
Thrust on the downstroke, spinning in air, a rune of feathers
Spread like fingers, heavier than bone, they yield in such flight
To every silent lift of wind and breeze, swoon of feathers
A sensation in the ear helps to locate the updraft
Eyes aloft I stand astonished in a room of feathers
Difficult to comprehend, this hard keratin in skin
A subterfuge with contour, tail, pin, grim loom of feathers
Out in their boats the fishermen dream of Hagoramo
Dancing in moonlight, wearing a bright costume of feathers
Beneath the swell, the flotsam of lost days drifts slowly down
Silver stardust sifting to a grey lagoon of feathers
The season recedes in a curl of smoke and damp weather
I without you at the threshold in a gloom of feathers
We glide along alone, the stretched tips of our wings shifting
Over still distance, through the long afternoon of feathers
All the time tilting and turning in air, this pair, fatal
Pinion she accelerates toward ground, a womb of feathers
Now unfurl, inhabit her form in full: rough quill, tough tines
One way, the other rub a sudden soft bloom of feathers
Window
Locust trees emboss the moon in half-light
In the glass your shadow floats in lamplight
Beyond, the future stays silent, shrouded
Such darkness intersects the bright moonlight
La jalousie, a small-town street, rings round
The moon foretelling of storm at daylight
A hummingbird hangs outside the window
Red nectar explodes in morning sunlight
Early chinking tumbles into birdsong
You pick up a leaf, breathe in the white light
Up above, the world's a picture window
Dormer, double bay, wide unframed skylight
Water, mirror, window, promise of it
You float downstream, eyes reflecting pale light
Now take all you can hold through the glass, join
The astral slipstream, lie down in starlight
The stars sheen opalescent, out of range
Sky of mazarine blue in the twilight
Out here there are no shadows, shape-shifting
Or seasons: every pinprick warms like firelight