Oaks surround this clearing, where the stones and stairs
of a building, abandoned without walls, grow cracked
and split with weeds and wildflowers. My candle chases
mosquitoes from the site. As I set my steel-framed glasses
on the concrete, the flame blurs white, a ball of light.
I lie, hugging floppy grey sweater sleeves around my knees,
bony knobs brush past my palms. Stainless
steel rims cast glints like spiny silver insects.
A mosquito, stalled by smoke, lights on the nosepiece,
legs like tendrils, splayed. I watch the wind, reflected
in the lenses, tickle flickers in the wick,
sending the mosquito chasing smoke, scuttling
oak leaves into scorpions.

poems: alphabetical || chronological
blog || novel || vita
ChaoSpirals