• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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A Green Light At Night

He walks at night
when he can ask,
and hear, their consent,
their green light
pulsing in the brush.

He bends and waits
as they assess
his wholeness,
as driver.

Take us in your glass jar,
they ask,
lift us up and show us
the tips of the grass.

He does as he is
asked, transport for
the night creatures,
and thinks of the light
of her window,
not sent but seen,
not red, not green.

"I am yours, little egg man,"
he hears her say,
as foam covers the glass
behind which
he makes a fine specimen.