THREE A.M.

The light invented who I was supposed to be.

The light told me I was king.

The light bent down and whispered shame on you.

The light huddled around the house.

The light arrived and was the shape of a stamp.

The light pours and pours.

The light slipped around your finger like a ring.

The light lifted up the gown.

The light slipped into the pilot’s left pupil and sang.

The light left.

The light did not care who I was though it knew I was bad.

The light was Atlantic.

The light crawled and begged across my bedroom floor.

The light did not shiver.

The light pooled when the blood pooled and your fingernails.

The lighthouse.

The lightroom.

The light bought drinks and loved the children in the park.

The light came down and taught everyone a lesson.

The light made a pillow and then went to bed and didn’t get up.

The light you are standing in.

The light turned against me because it’s the right thing to do.

The light on the table and the pencil.

The light was electric and glass and broke when I punched it.