Ghazal with the night as climate change.

 

I open the remains of the night

And pour them into dark vastness, the night.

Everything I seem to love is growing into cracks,

My brother is the first to see, body of darkness —night

My brother is everything bent the wrong way—C

Every where the pain forgets to nest it ruin—night

My brother is a body of liquids —sea

Every where what drowns returns to life —night.

I sit beneath what used to be a tree,

An inferno of beautiful things in my mouth; call it night

I spit all the darkness, all the silence into all the wrong places,

The furrow on my accent is louder than my voice, I bury the night

Everything that covers a prayer and does it well,

Can be tagged beautiful in Arabic and called night

My mother would mistake my brother’s name

For sukko, in gbagyi it’s the only way to say night

My uncle nurtures an oak tree, my sister wants

A beach house so we take down the tree: night?

We put pillars everywhere that could home a tree

The beach house stands erect in the absence of trees—night

I gather my silence every time gasses erupt

Like little prayers in the sanctuary of God: night.