Good Year



We watched the buoyant oval lift
and drop on a thermal of April dusk.
An immense illumination.
A presage of other radiance bygone
or going out–porch light
starring a neighborhood game.
Bonfire flashing a wild skirt of freshmen.
Streetlight sprayed with moths
and the slick pitch of a bat.

It descended so low,
as if the wary moon had finally
allowed us to see its true self–
a gibbous, Japanese lantern.
A motorized prop wired with bulbs
and a fluttering propeller.
As it turned toward us
a woman climbed her lawnchair,
wishful hands clasped under her chin,
trying to see a man inside.


Cider Press Review, Vol.10, 2009