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By Peter Mladinic

On the big dark hanger deck of an LPH

more in it than on it, the dark

a mouth, the flashlight, you click it off.

There you are, all dark.

The deck goes, the passageways

the aft brow, the dock in cold daylight

Brooklyn goes, the Brooklyn Bridge,

tunnels wooded paths window sills

of the past. Dark is all,

you walk in that mouth

the light’s beams all that come between

you and the dark. Your thumb moves

the tab down. No light, dark like you’ve

never been in, you click the tab, the light

on, you walk. The dark is everywhere.

ColdCoffee | eric—stock.adobe.com

Founder’s Favourites | July 2021—Issue 15 | 4

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