We
bathed
in amber
last night
getting stuck
with mosquitoes
under an orange sheen
which made things
not illuminated, but
notdark.
So, surrounded
by a personal 11 pm we sat
under a lampshade of notdark
and tried to get our feelings
out.
Even sitting back to back,
empty bookends, we held orange
light between us
a sinister glow.
I could see that nothing hid beneath its gleam,
no beady-eyed monsters lurked
in the harvest colored bushes,
but I could also see only shapes,
as if my eyes were taking silent hours
to adjust to the light on Crescent Road.
That tiny orange kept me from being
moon on a lamppost scared and kept me from seeing
you.