The Red Rug Ghazal
Red Slider
As would make a man forget the stare.
A mill whistle shrieks over snowy meadow
Where the hunter sees nothing but the stare.
Whose comely skirts brush sand
In the eyes of those who get the stare?
The great rolling rug, a'whirl above,
Its brightest colors whet the stare.
We, who are of faltering step, walk
The red walk, ere we've met the stair.