If I could glow like that
and carve the night
in streaks, knowing
There was no time
to eat
nor sleep
nor reminisce upon
my luminescent bodies
past, knowing
That the fourth death
is always the last
For whom
would I call?
Tap tap
at my sill
like party lights
on a chain
Stir the mason
jar afire
Should I wait
as long as it takes for you
To be the last
of your kind?
With Angie LaPaglia
© Brendan Bonsack/Angie LaPaglia
August 2016