The Bright Last Night by Mitchel Montagna

Something is wrong with

the lights near the field.

They flicker and burn

like they’re groping for air.

Their tumblers turn 

but the darkness won’t yield.   

 

We had to awake

to dawn’s holy glare.

It flowed from the hills

like a river of stars.

We braced for the chills

so sharp in the air.   

 

I’m driving alone

as the heat starts to rise.

My face wracked and spent

from the glimmering night.

And the sweet highway scent

of her kiss in my eyes.

About the Poet:

Mitchel Montagna has worked as a special education teacher, radio journalist, and corporate communicator. He is married and lives in Florida.