Imperfect Ghazal on Weightless Living

for my father

My father’s hands flapped in a spiral of smoke, a weak light.

What did I dream then, a child drenched in image? Sleek light,

falling honeyed rivers, purpled fruit. What did I need

to imagine my body, calm in migration? I wanted to seek light.

Dawn sank into my hands like rain. I wanted to evaporate

& ask God to reveal my face. I wanted to speak light

& watch the earth settle into being. Each splash of wilderness

unraveled into clean, solid lines. From there I would leak light.

From there I would take flight, my body sloped & pliant

in this arena of disorder. But in the dark beak of night

that light still shivered. The world with its oblique

tilt. Every day I arrived & arrive. My physique light,

my mouth blazing verse. With prayer I swill inward

those weeks I lie rooted. Flood my cheek, light

traveling into all skin: I am learning to find pleasure

in uncertainty. Teach me your technique, light.

Wait for it to come to you, I heard once in a car. O radiant

risk, I am ready. Give me your mystique, light.

Untouched by flame, my father now shakes his hair

that suddenly grows to its full, shiny length, an antique light.