Billy Howell-Sinnard

Ghazal of Days

The moon festering, prescience fills those darker of days.
Legs swollen, belly swollen, it's just a matter of days.

"Guppies and mollies, in the bubbling water, console her,"
he says, recounts a string of maladies leading to paler days.

He's reposed in a recliner, his face turns to clouds and rain .
She joyfully talks of newborn guppies destined in future days.

The children call, will visit before this very day is through.
He no longer leaves the house--the long, muted dither of days.

I, the hospice nurse, duties and death filling my head, marvel
at the simplicity of life--at the presence--quencher of days.



I said I'd be nice to myself. Remember, at the edge
of the lake? You asked what had happened. Light's edge

gilded a door like a sword cutting around my heart.
I followed the words of your love to their diamond edge,

but only the sound of your voice broke through darkness.
I stood for an eternity before your body's subtle edge.

No farther, the words I finally heard. I fell helplessly
into the lake, water a home of silence without an edge.

No one calls on me. Voices become lapping waves.
The chill has left me. The stars lie on the surface's edge.


Billy is a hospice case manager, visual artist, and poet. He's had numerous first, second, and third place wins at IBPC (InterBoard Poetry Community). His poem, Hospice Nurse, won second place for poem of the year for 2014-2015. Several of his poems have been published in anthologies and at online poetry sites.