Home		John Gilgun Ghazal
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		No one understands love, no, no one. The astral light in the impassive silence. No one. No one understands music, no one, no. How a single finger pressing a key releases a note. No one understands the yellow light in the snapdragon, or how vision meets itself in a bumblebee and knows. No one understands joy, how it holds out its hand, promising no more whens, thens or whys, only now. Now I rise up in a new body, standing tall in the coneflowers. Now I rise up in new body saying, “Now I know. I know.”
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