(humming porch lights
ticked by moths
left warm in the night
magneto’d from negative space
draped blackly and thick)
my gnarled knuckles
smear blue inks across legal pads
i know nothing
and every unnamed thing
like coal
groans hot inside my engine
churning it/us/me forward.
i am exploding unspecifically
without direction or gravity
and in the space with dim stars
a harness of hope and gold glim
brings me fluttering back
from the universe’s
outer rim.
four brittle, basic words
seem lacking and slight-
but in deep dark corners
it feels good to say
you are a light.
