Lightning at Noon
It flashed outside my window while the sun
was beaming in and harmonizing
with my lamp, but both were dim compared
to that wild shade of white converging
with yellow, leaving me to wonder if
the bolt was actually the source of light
capable of revealing everything.
I imagined that the darkest study
in the world was buried under my backyard,
and all the pages in its books were nearly
as atramentous as the words they held.
Though dormant torches lay on the room’s desk,
no match’s flame was ever bright enough
for them, and even if I packed flashlights,
they wouldn’t work. Only the lightning could
provide the necessary spark for reading,
the fire that could ignite my shadow
into cerise. Such thoughts occurred to me
until the thunder exploded just before
a second bolt, then a power outage.