Judith sits
In a wicker
Chair,
Watches the
Blue day until
There’s no blue left.
Turning on
The porch light
The decking is gold
For five
Until the bulb
Is carpeted in moth
To her left,
Is the window,
Inside was her reflection
That the dark severed
She kisses the pane
In the open night
The whole world
Is as close
And as clear
As the inside of her mind
The bulb becomes
Hot and the moths
Bounce on the glass
They let the light spill
Over the two Judiths
The dust insects
Butt and burn
Till the sun rises
And they either
Sleep
Or fly
Into the sun.
