The Bright Last Night

The Bright Last Night

Something is wrong with

the lights near the field.

They flicker and burn

like they’re groping for air.

Their tumblers turn 

till our future is sealed.   

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.

Mitchel Montagna

Mitchel Montagna is a corporate communications writer for a professional services firm. He has also worked as a radio news reporter and special education teacher. Fiction and poetry publications include Amarillo Bay, Yellow Mama, Down in the Dirt, Leaves of Ink, Adelaide, White Liquor Journal, and Penwood Review. He is married and lives in New Jersey.

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