Sunday, May 22, 2016

light at the end.

   
[im swimming in a sea of stated facts,
and i'm not sure i should bite]
   


   There's a light that flicks on and off at the end of my street,
   in the shade of the trees at the bend in the cul-de-sac.
   The light shines when I'm looking for it,
   but I can't be sure it's there when I'm gone.
   It seems like every time I turn around,
   the light goes out.
  
   My little light is fleeting, 
   nesting furtively in the shadows
   at heights, 
   there when I need it to shine, but biding time,
   saving strength, saving itself for another night;
   until it can split through smoke tendrils and lift me up,
   right below the power lines.
   
   Little light,
   you're mine,
   as long as I never know who's behind you.
   
   And maybe I'm missing something, maybe I should venture to find it,
   the source.
   Instead of looking for it only when I light a cigarette, 
   when I walk out to take out the trash;
   instead of just ignoring it when it rains,
   instead of dreaming it winks out in my periphery.
   
   I carve circles in the concrete with the crunching of 
   glass and gravel under boot heels, under alternating laces,
   just to find the right light, under you, before I drift away.
   I just asked to be bathed in this light, you see,
   you're not all I have,
   but I'm sinking, so just drown me.
   
   Just drown me,
   little light of mine,
   as long I know you're behind me,
   
   I'll be there.
   When you're off,
   When you're on,
   When you're on your own.