How much time could you borrow to put off
the moment when you’ll go tomorrow?
The sound of earthquakes will reverberate
across saffron-tinged plateaus tomorrow.
Despite the coming squall, will the sky still
fill with pepper-colored crows tomorrow?
Through dizzying emporiums, I’ll hunt
the rare rust-colored rose tomorrow.
I’ll row this boat and race the fiercest gulls
across the Gulf of Mexico tomorrow.
I’ll grind my glass and polish brass to see
as far as Galileo tomorrow.
In tendrils of light across the night, I’ll
write my name to guide you home tomorrow.
One of the things I’ve been doing during NaPoWriMo is experimenting with forms I’ve rarely (or never) attempted and my favorite, thus far, is the ghazal. I first read ghazals in Sarah J. Sloat’s excellent chapbook In the Voice of a Minor Saint (Tilt Press, 2009) and was immediately struck by the form. You can read some of her fine ghazals at Linebreak and Eclectica (the one at Linebreak appears in the chapbook).
I only know of the form what I’ve read in wikipedia and deduced from studying Sloat’s poems and a few others I’ve found here and there, but when NaPoWriMo is over, I’ll probably try to learn more since it’s a form I find quite compelling.