diner ghazal

Sitting in the diner booth, I listen to
a sullied beauty who sighs, knowing only I will listen to
her.
  
The band plays through yells and laughs of bar patrons,  
in hopes that perhaps someone will notice them and listen to  
them  
 
I lean forward and adjust the radio; 
"Why don't you ever even pretend to listen to  
me?" 
  
In the gilded blade-leafed basin of lakes on such nights  
in spring, buzzing heartbeats harmonize and you must listen to  
them.  
  
He who is like God, all blazes and fires lit in response:
he has signed his work, in trust that a few will listen to
him.