Napo 4/8/24 Mother, Son, Sky

Today's prompt. 

All of that heat
and all of that light,
mother of the sky
bringer of the day.

Interloping rock, hell spawn
in the orbit of a bigger rock.
A less celestial body, a smaller
also-ran. The lesser beacon of the night.
become the usurper.

Stand in the light, raise your arms to full length,
like praying, like victory. Cast your stretched shadow,
darken the plains, change water to an unseeing abyss,
force the ants to look up. Show us,
how wrong we've been. We've underestimated you,
and now
look what you've done.

Seasonal Conditions

 

The tree limbs rattle against the wood framed windows.

Wind, warping it’s cries

cascading them around the foundation and frame of the building.

Sky, in shades of blackness and fog, overcast brushstrokes fade out along the fuzzed ring of a lone, distant light. Life outside a frosted fish bulb.

Electricity fails, shadows twist and gel in shapes furnished by the gentle sway of candle lights.

Everything waits

as the wind laughs,

in an otherwise still space.

For now.

 

Modern Day Night Hawks

Another lesser known figure waving out of the window of a Honda Civic that’s revving its engine at a stop light. Neon glow strobing from its undercarriage.

The passenger waving their arms and babbling in unintelligible shouts over the boom of house music. 

Young, wild lovers

On a dark summer’s night.

Squalling their voices in heavy clouds of moisture,

Unleashing

To the buildings,

Mixing with the noise

from the cars

and the confusion

Pouring out from the rest of us

Here, left on the darkening sidewalks

of the early evening slow to age itself.

Wondering if the beat stops

Eventually.

Opening Ceremony

I lit a sparkler in my backyard during the shift change between day and night.
Commemorating something that hardly mattered.

It spat out half-glorious light into the dried leaves.
The leaves were offended by the ways the light
barely singed their crackled, weakened flames.

"What sort of fire doesn't burn what it touches?"
They asked me.

I was not surprised by this question; it is one that
had also crossed my mind.

I did not answer because it would look strange to talk to a bunch of dried leaves.

The sparkler's faded brilliance dimmed even further.
Exerted itself in a pathetic display of broken fits of excitement.
Wore itself out.
I stood
with the leaves
felt the new night's air
found myself wishing for a fire
that would leave some sort of lasting impact
to mark this occasion.