Exhausted, this light.
It was supposed to shine
piercingly bright
set the roof ablaze
melt the fire escape
spark mica in the wall
singe a rat’s whiskers
in its hole.
But side-swiped by a taxi door
window-slammed off discount store
it launched from hood of truck
in a stream
only to be mugged by vent steam
and spun around by high-rise draft
it had hoped to dance
on park grass, but
punch-drunk, paled out
diffused
it filtered and fell
confused in a dumb-luck daze
through the curtains of 6A
landing in the trust of
particles of dust
where it was pacified
with gentleness—
Stupified, this light
is of no consequence.
