You know I love ghazals, and there was a post on Poetic Asides about them the other day, so I wrote one off the cuff that evening and thought I'd toss it up here since I haven't posted much poetry recently. I changed one line from the version I posted here (You can read the post about the form and a few other people's submissions as well).
I loved her four years and took away nothing
but memories and photos that add up to nothing.
In Ohio, it is hard not to love summer, the bright green
of grass, the brightness of bodies wearing next to nothing.
We were both eighteen, bare-legged on a summer night,
sweet smell of cornsilk, so faint as to be almost nothing.
An apartment without air conditioning. Open windows
all night long. Two bodies sweating. I would change nothing.
Sun and moon love earth the way I loved her, the only way
they know how: offering themselves, asking nothing.
It has been ten years since she left. Still when I drink wine,
I wonder what I should have done differently. The answer: nothing.
With all this time to think, Emily has realized
that without both love and loss, life is worth nothing.