Poetry of Issue #8        Page 54

Dilated at dark

Streets are now bluer. The windows, colored
either in butter or goldenrod, are bleeding
their light as mist from architectural honeycombs;

The lights from street level explode
like hot magma—cars speed on, double time,
shooting stars made by Toyota, Ford or Cadillacs

as the stoplights pulse angrily. Stop! Go! Go away!
The sharply-drawn lines are now blurred,
rain-like, on the driest night. I can’t see right

through my dilated eyes. The exploded lights
blinded me; I couldn’t move –until
I felt his hand, leading me home.

  Carrie Magness Radna