We walked long hours following sacred stars
and watched for signs of certain darkened stars.
The moon rose thin and razor-like, slicing
a course across the meridian stars.
You traced the secret constellation lines
on my homemade maps of fallen stars.
I followed the moon’s trek across the void
and through the gaseous graves of ruined stars.
You talked about explosions bursting with
a thousand evolutions born in stars.
The atoms in our fingertips trembled
as we pondered our origins in stars.
Our hands met as our thoughts lingered on strange
dim memories of long forgotten stars.
I looked into your eyes—saw new worlds and
the echoes of eternity in stars.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
Oh my, this is nicely played, James.
The same word ending each line works well in this poem…and long shall I think of it when I look up at the stars.
It’s my first attempt at a ghazal. I like some of the lines, but as for the form, it doesn’t really sing like I wanted it to, but that’s the napowrimo thing–no time to revise until May 🙂
what’s a ghazal?
I’m guessing it has to do with a repeated word?
I love the ancient feeling of this, and there’s a sacredness, too.
Thanks, angie. I’m really happy to hear that came across.
The wikipedia entry on ghazal is where I started. Here’s the link.