Lamplight Visits
by Odin Roark

Staring up from my park bench,
Spartan newspaper-blanket adequate,
you flutter beneath lamp post warmth,
and I envy,
oh, how I envy.

When at midnight,
like every night,
lamp power shuts off,
you drop to my chest.

My eyes follow as you adjust,
my night moth visitation,
if only to shiver beneath my cupped hand.

Our hearts pulsate together,
our insignificance
still a sign of greatness,
our lives triumphant
against a world’s cruelty.

No blind chance this,
me of Pagliacci-tears,
you of a Marceau-powdered face.

Sleeping clowns we,
ready to welcome the night’s calliope of dreams.