Lamplight by John Davis
Me the moth on the opposite side
of glass, flapping wings
you the lamplight never winking
or blinking but holding a long breath.
Match me. Open the window.
I’m blistering my wings, scraping
night off the glass. You don’t have to be
the poem all the time, stoic, polite
heroic with a puffed-up chest.
So much light available
around that incandescence.
You have played the role of beauty
for so long it burns the room
melts the glass like a Chihuly chandelier
that sprays light into prisms.
©2020 John Davis
John Davis is the author of two collections, Gigs and The Reservist. His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, One and Rio Grande Review. He moonlights in blues and rock and roll bands.