Ghazal After the Death of a Son
by Jean Hallingstad
Crossing this endless tundra, wanting you,
And my poor heart stumbles, wanting you.
The last moon of summer holds its face
Between still hands, penumbral, wanting you.
Wolves with their hungry kinship follow near,
Nights without voice, unnumbered, wanting you.
Four chambers within the heart lie hidden
Filled with ashes and wonder, wanting you.
We pitch our tent in the blind of night
And wake by fear encumbered, wanting you.
So this my name foretold, God's bitter gift
Of sharpest love all sundered, wanting you.