… linger.

By J. K. McDowell

January 2018

 

Midnight.  The end has come, until next we meet.

The unreality dismantles as arranged.

Alas, no traces, only the memories linger.

 

Andalusian soundscapes with a simple click.

Federico, you’re my best friend ghost poet but

We were never lovers, yet the rumors linger.

 

Betwixt and between – this is not on any map.

I close my eyes to the digital distractions,

The beauty of your mystery must still linger.

 

A Monday maelstrom is cleared by a mudslide of grief.

Choked in the sweetness of this spiral dream where

I hear those words: “do you have to let it linger?”

 

Welcome to the first ghazal of Two Oh One Eight.

James, you might be my favorite poet but

Forgetfulness asks politely, please do not linger.

 

You shoot the arrow directly into the blinding

Noonday sun.  There are moments when timeless words

Are not welcome and my silent curses linger.

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