these voices sound in the night like softly jingling light bulbs
that have long retired to couches and front porches
they dangle, they creak, they perturb
and once in a while, they light for a few seconds
only to go back at once to resting
it is easy to get caught in this momentary flash in the sky, this warmth
to wish and pray, to build pyres and temples
to coax this familiar glow and clarity to come more often
it is easier to do this all this than it is to look down to the market
where brilliant lights glow all night, and we, by ourselves
have to risk traveling there all alone, and greater yet,
risk that the lights will not be there when we arrive
No comments:
Post a Comment