I don’t want to start with the moon
but it was gloomy outside
and there was a pale quivering light
that reflected from water
and silvered the tips of branches
leaving me little choice
even as I contemplated again
the traumatizing prospect of aging
even as I stood there on the renovated deck
considering whether to walk the avenues
in order to clear my head
or to return to my laptop
with all of the tasks that I was avoiding
and as I continued to kill time
and waste psychic energy
you appeared backlit in the doorway
and as I watched you
the flames licked up from the bottom
of your dress and burned it away
your arms raising and fire leaping the gap to me
and I was lost inside moonlight
inside unbreathable heat
I still remember that night after all this time
I still bear the scars
of that unexpected conflagration.
Paul Ilechko is British American poet and occasional songwriter who lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Night Heron Barks, Tampa Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Sleet Magazine, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.