[Ghazal XXI] by John Thompson

I know how small a poem can be:
the point on a fish hook;

women have one word or too many:
I watch the wind;

I’d like a kestrel’s eye and know
how to hang on one thread of sky;

the sun burns up my book:
it must be all lies;

I’d rather be quiet, let the sun
and the animals do their work:

I might watch, might turn my back,
be a done beer can shining stupidly.

Let it be: the honed barb drowsing in iron water
will raise the great fish I’ll ride

(dream upon dream, still the sun warms my ink
and the flies buzzing to life in my window)

to that heaven (absurd) sharp fish hook,
small poem, small offering.

From: Jernigan, Amanda and Jones, Evan (eds.), Earth and Heaven: An Anthology of Myth Poetry, 2015, Fitzhenry & Whiteside: Markham, Ontario, p. 92.
(https://www.google.com.au/books/edition/Earth_and_Heaven/JK2SrgEACAAJ)

Date: 1978 (published)

By: John Thompson (1938-1976)

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