Ghazal to Time
After so many prophets, who's left to astound time?
Hear: I hold his hand in mine. Two to confound time.
A beginning hot and dense, a point containing all, no
other fate for us—loosed about space, around time.
Remind us of leaf rust, husk hollow, seed swallowed.
Remind us of loss that's found when we go to ground, Time.
Come out, fall out wherever you are. And after, follow
the piper. Pay a copper when the drummer sounds time.
If I whisper how it went, spin a filament of sorrow,
could it lap-long-coil-tight-curl-cruel-close-bound time?
In our hearts, the tales start small and then stretch tall. Oh
syncopate that hollow and beat to fix-wound time.
In a perfect vacuum,
what is heavy falls in line
with what is light.
Let's wait, then, you and I,
enlightened thus by matter,
to fall beyond time.
Patricia J. Miranda's poems have been featured or are forthcoming in Bop Dead City, DASH Literary Magazine, Into the Void, The Literary Nest, Mount Hope, Pif Magazine, and Yellow Chair Review. She lives in Columbus, Ohio with her husband and two children.