Submitted by Ben Nardolilli
Midnight, looking for some light,
the downstairs universe
hangs in place with slight sparkles and shines,
but nothing that rises like a beacon,
here, an outstretched hand counts
as a silent prayer in the kitchen,
the fridge puts on its best obsidian overcoat
and I follow the glare of its doors
until I find a band of moonlight
glowing on the floor of the hallway,
I walk over it and look out at the window
the beam is seeping through,
in hopes I might see myself in the reflection,
illuminated and pure
with a natural light against a natural background,
before going back upstairs to bed.
About the Poet
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, Inwood Indiana, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel.
Photo Credit: Rene Magritte – Empire of Light
Vita Brevis Press. 
Nice lines
I’m forever seeing reflections of reflections within reflections, and wonder if that’s a poet’s thing…
Reblogged this on The Biblioanthropologist.