About the Light

When I think of night,

I think of a gentle spider mating

with a spidress.

I think of mating in the dark,

but asking for one mellow lamp.

A perfect mating needs no groping,

but a little illumination,

a little intimacy,

not too bright.

When I think of night,

I ask my students to write

a perfect sentence.

They demand instead

how their perfect monsoon

and winter days should be:

a G major,

or an A minor seventh,

a drink at the desk,

a smoke along uneven ruelles.

Perhaps this is how their youth will end,

under unabashed supremacy,

or regressive rings and amulets

worn on fingers, on arms,

with the arm

and the desire

still reaching

for the dark.