Ghazal for the Collective Loss

I want to tell you that I will never feel
as you do in these rhythms of loss.

I wish I could invent new space for you to steal,
emptiness that is simply prisms reflecting loss.

A boy sits beneath the tree outside chapel
when the world vaulted between drums of loss.

It weighs down like school backpacks full
of gifts—burning into ashed memory loss.

Dream back towards family-portraits on dry
racks before they chipped into loss.

Soft lotus blooms in the eye sky-crossed.
Come on! We must run before sun is loss.