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


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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.


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