I had intended to write a ghazal for number 19, as you might infer from the cross-outs on my draft, but the poem took its own turn and decided to scrap that in favor of its own unique form and rhyme scheme. So be it.
Draft:
.
He of the forest was silent, having seen the gossamer glow
of voices too small to hear
and before dawn, his antlered crown dipped low
beneath the half-moon’s sterling sheen:
She gave him the breath of twilight
and seeded secrets in his ear
to wake him from quiet, breathless night
and leave him somewhere between.
.
A curious ab, ac, db, dc scheme. Something about dreaming and waking.
rhythm's nest 