Archangelic

ghazal

the foreign hostage scraped in the dust
her last word “Gabriel”

anglo-saxon not in my skin
a wicked red burn like Gabriel

quintuple amputee can’t you heal us?
sure, ask Gabriel

louder still the ones in white
their cloud-soft hands sign “Gabriel”

twelve thousand years in want of oil
bronze forms pledged to Gabriel

dance-mistress takes up a gavotte,
imagines fair Gabriel

I scorn your guns; leave them be —
rising, I call on Gabriel

soma sweet inebriate me
I have dwelt with Gabriel

brothers that’s no feather
but the last gift of Gabriel

darling what have we done?
our lives are bare without Gabriel

beside the lake no bee stirs
no thrush sings mourning Gabriel

on their knees a bloody oath
to die or to find Gabriel

a newborn too weak to cry
stops mid-breath: it is Gabriel

Last modified: Tue Mar 6 22:17:00 EST 2007

Frabjous Times