Fault

Marriage: Ghazal

42 Marriage: Ghazal What’s lost in love? What retrieved? It could be we lose ourselves to make love what could be. He offers water, but I want to burn the night down. I ask where the Glenlivet could be. Night tricks from its air cloth he slips into. Does he keep just arms up those sleeves? That could be. Eye of grosgrain, button of palest shell hanging on thread’s delicate could be. My spine shivers open along the zipper’s teeth: the touch withheld, air softer than velvet could be. He unfastens darkness, unhooks it down to skin— he never knew how elusive light could be. His is the hand that undoes me at last. His undoing’s all I conceived night could be. As pearl is to mother, mortal heart to cage, grain’s nubbins are to the sheaves: what could be. Even the most fragile bud troubles forth, caught open early, to bear the bright, cold bee. Touch of a thief on a tiny catch. I’m sprung, taken by promise’s predicate: could be. What have I got? Words to undo the heart with a wink and a whisper: It is, Sweet, not Love, it could be. ...