swings gently in the dusk
surrounded by lace, laughter, and tea…
Specs of insect legs and bird dust,
collected moth residue,
vast and clear open skies…
all reflect with envy
the perfection of the single waxy flame,
trapped in circular doors of glass: held.
Its heat is encased in a cage covered
with fingerprints of rust and
spotted clouds on burnished bronze,
with green patches that remind me
of the aged green of Greek statuary
as it stands decaying, slowly sliding
into bright teal summer seas,
with eel green seaweed
engulfing the figures in slime.
The summer here is a northeastern purple,
but nonetheless sublime, like the aftertaste
of marmalade jam or fresh mushrooms,
like pulling off squeaky rubber boots,
wet with the grassy aftersmell of rain…
the hinges of the lantern doors
open onto laughter, bats, and stars...