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Letter

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When reading, words flash; individual lighthouses dividing light and dark


For all to see

Poe and Tolkien, fiction alight; they make the air buzz and glaciers in flight


For all to see

Salmonella and the Black Death, cries of anguish and itches in the gut that


We can’t scratch

Thinking of distractions to pour over at night; learning long codes of honor that


We can’t comprehend


But when the night is lit, in thousands of gossamer strands flitting through the conscience, we see the words; and we realize that the line is thin
But when the night is dark, the line is gone, and we do what we want



It wasn’t too bad to light up the night, but I just didn’t want to see a line,
No matter how fragile and translucent; fortunately, the ground was opaque, or I would have fallen through
Which doesn’t sound that bad; now it rolls of the tongue.





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