a ghazal beginning with a couplet by Crozier

If loss has a language it must be water’s –
We are mostly made of it.

Broken string, the pearls scatter
Shake like teeth from the bathroom rug.

"A soft fight." In broken English, it means
he didn’t hit her.

Cast bones, cast bones – three crows
In an oak tree. Such news.

The sea can't be comforted. Say what you want,
It won’t cease its pacing, its saying of names.

Landlocked. But November trees
Say ocean, ocean, ocean.