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Miriam Sagan


Will o'the Wisp



1 am, get up

to piss, and see out the window

towards El Rito

not St. Elmo's fire

that may cling

to a mast

but ball lightning, or swamp gas,

or restless spirits

of the dead

I usually keep

framed and locked

in a drawer or cabinet.


As if bodiless hunters

wandered the air

above the marsh

with flashlights or

lanterns blinking

on and off, on and...


if I move closer

it will back away

if I step away

it comes closer

this cold burning

light like

neon in a tube, phosphorescence on the sea,

or desire

in the heart's dark cavity.



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