Blossoming Ghazal

I sometimes sit and look inside myself, oberving the universe as it blooms.
Each new event is inscribed on the petals of the universe as it blooms.

The castle of experience is filled with hallways, in one of which I have rooms:
A den, with walls of poems and a window to watch the universe as it blooms,

The sewing room is as far as any strangers are invited, in which are looms
Where I, the Lady of Shalott, weave tapestries of the universe as it blooms.

Those who wish to see my inner sanctum are led to a theater filled with tombs
Of loved ones who once watched me perform ablutions to the universe as it blooms.

There’s a parlor, in which to receive lovers and friends, with footmen, butlers and grooms.
But alone in the den I watch nearby petals of the universe as it blooms.

As an armillary spins around me--one of the forms the universe assumes--
I polish the glass, watering my daylilies and the universe as it blooms.

Every day, at dawn, the ritual of polishing and observation resumes,
And the sapphire at the center of the universe is revealed as it blooms.

* * *

Pushkin is right; the creation of poetry is "the rhyming search for truth" (Eugene Onegin, 4.L). It's no wonder that I have been producing as much poetry as prose lately.