Someone says the bright new mushrooms
shine like lanterns by the walk. . . . the moon?
In Light Of
Twenty-six degrees this morning.
I wonder what I would do if I were a star? Shine like the rest of them, I suppose. And perhaps be gone by the time my light is seen in this faraway world.
Lantern is a word I love. I wonder how old I was when I first learned it.
A procession of candles. No one holding them. Just the candles themselves, moving along, at about the height they would usually be carried. And there is singing.
Where are the voices coming from?
You hear them, don’t you?
Is it the rocks that are singing? The trees? The mountainsides?
It might even be the cars parked alongside the curb. The neighbors’ garbage cans.
All these words need now is a hook to hang your hat from.
Recently Banned Literature, December 9, 2017
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces, Recently Banned Literature
William Michaelian 