filament 

from fairmount park
the city is the filament of a 
light bulb 

screwed into the back
porch lamp of my parent's house

on noble street 

there are places that 
only exist in the summer

& the driveway is one of them

bottle cap prayer cards &
carpenter bees 

selling gospel--
humming choir--

bartering their stingers 
to the wasps for a greater
chance at heaven--

each one an individual 
rosary bead--

back to the city--

i was counting each 
bright building from my 
parked volvo--

postcard picture horizon--

my engine had been
over-heating 
from the red stop
& go 

so i pulled over 
even though i was
only a few minutes 
from you apartment building

i didn't tell you
that i stopped over
here--

stepped outside the car
& leaned against the hood--

that's us right there--
burning inside someone's

light bulb--

edison-- trying every 
possible material to 

keep the glow going--

we are those bodies 
who banished candles--

electronic radiant birdhouses

if i shake enough
will we become that snow globe
on the shelf at the museum
gift shop?

swallowed by a belly
of white glass--

twisted into the 
ceiling fan--

whose wings are we
borrowing?

i wished you were there
with me so i'm re-writing
the memory with you 

we don't say anything 

the ceiling fan blows gently
as it extinguishing a flame--

you kiss me on
the neck & we're both warm--

find each other's light
switches on the smalls of
our backs--

a bedroom wall--

& the city was nothing
but coiled wire

but the inventors

cheered from the red birthmark 
clouds dusk

you & i became a light bulbs
there-- in each other's hands--

soft smooth glossy surface--

warm from being a city

perched so far in the distance--

i get back in the car--
alone in the wake
of an almost memory 
i finish
driving to you 

feel each filaments 
of my veins--

you make me pray to
bumble bees--

oh there are the ghosts
of candles

following me in
the street lamps--

all of them are us--