01 Mar 2016 – Ghazal

A bright half round of goat cheese flies above the tree line in the West.
A burning city dies tonight above the tree line in the West.

An old, dilapidated sign from nineteen hundred fifty three
sits rusting tears that no one sees above the tree line in the West.

Tonight a Turkish coffee sky dissolves a sugar cube of love
while you sit stirring with the birds above the tree line in the West.

Sleek fighters fill a sunset sky to kiss a mercy convoy’s feet
for day was ever Death’s domain above the tree line in the West.

A shorting street light flashes midnight miseries from earth’s far shore,
leaves stars no time to speak from high above the tree line in the West.

Old Fool, have headlights caught you crying tears that no one’s authorized,
or is it just a star of hope above the tree line in the West?

~

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