Gaslights

Of thee and other flames, I rhyme again.

Your dim lights hid the crimes of wealth,

The balanced books, gargantuan and blood-black.

Your faint light let the shadows gather 'round,

The circumference tighten, the crimson handprints fade—

Perhaps they winged into the linden trees.

In such an ink, we made up constellations, safe

In our derision. Quiet convulsions of 

A smile. We flew like that for years. Pretending

To sleep like sacred cows in the lion's den.

How long before we'd allow the gift

Of foolishness? Laughter from a broken toy?

The gaslights are lit, the summer's breathing.

At least some monsters wait till dark descends.