Barbara Helfgott Hyett

 

Night Guided by a Brown Beetle

 

She has waited through dusk to call herself
to my attention, porcelain back shining See
me.  So I stop to watch her be. I could lie
on cobblestones beside her. I could
touch the inner membrane of her eye—

Revelation! Perceivable Premonition!
The Holy Painted Unity
made red by the soil of wine.

She is as real as the moon, floating
among dead leaves in the children’s pool,
over-confident like a glowworm. 
Or is she full of yearning
as she darkens, more like me?

 

published by Muddy River Review