When the streetlamp flicked on at the corner
where Morris and Glazier met, it became home  

base, the place we scattered from and returned to,
playing Ghost in the Graveyard. The darker  

night turned, the more intense its light radiated
a shivery halo, core hot bone-white, a full moon,  

neon yellow, evolving to orange, red, green,
blue as it expanded, the colors of flames.  

When I gazed into its face, thousands of filaments
bent like arches and pointy inverted v’s emanated  

a constant buzz, sizzle I imagined an electric charge
or falling star particles. Mesmerized me as it did moths  

and mayflies with their long, dangly legs—rising,
circling, falling. O, to stand under it when it hummed on—   

a jolt of energy, a blossom opening. To follow my long
shadow on the street, mirror my every move. Sixty years  

later, still entranced when under a streetlight
at night—furry glow a warm aura—memories   

of when finally drained, we were ready
to surrender to the inside, and sleep.    

~ Inspired by Giacomo Balla’s Street Light, 1909