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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Poetry