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joshua gage
Ghazal
Hollow temple bells can only ring to the wind.
Filled with As-Samee’, your soul must sing to the wind.
Parents are a noose of silk around their children’s necks
But our feet are joyous, always dancing to the wind.
Your wealth upon the altar will but clatter to the stones.
Ash-Shaheed helps working hearts spring to the wind.
Lay down your plow and scythe. Wear, instead, raven feathers.
Rest among the lilies, then take wing to the wind.
The Prophet slips off to the North Woods to measure life by leaves.
His ragged hands and autumn hymns must cling to the wind.
Tupilak in Lake Effect
The ice rattles
in the harbor
of your windows
with a dance of snowflakes.
The serpents and horses
shiver the cup
like bones. Chains
echo the lightning
of Jack’s flowers and ferns.
The landscape is a trampled scripture
alone by the dying embers
of 1,000 frosted ghost ships.
Dangling their noose,
illuminated manuscripts
squeeze the gospel
out of your forgotten hearth.
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