Readers make the best companions

Drifting above the room
to areas rarely seen,
the top ledge of the bookshelf
displays a dusty parade
of propped novels read
and some unread
leaning aslant into tomorrow.

The lampshades from here
are tempting orbs
shining upwards,
directing me
in their searchlight nudges,
with adamant requests
to get out a duster and flick
away highlighted cobwebs.

I desist (knowing what I know)

For there’s that old spider reading
“The Time Traveler’s Wife” again,
and I notice its fine silken thread
traversing one room corner
right to the open book.

If only I made the same efforts
to read as it did. So, I assist
turning the page for it (carefully)
and between us we get to page two.

In genuine thanks
it untangles its trap,
and offers me begrudgingly
another free-fly
so I can become accustomed
to these fragile, moth wings.

Here’s hoping it’s a lengthy book
with a happy ending.


Tutankhamen’s remains

 Scoots by the light,
haphazardly crazed
to be drawn near
the lunar cousin it believes
to have discovered.

Darts here, there,
nosedives in curiously
from an angled ceiling;
there has to be, admittedly,
admiration in that agility.

When the flight began,
it can’t tell, peripherally
there’s some night mystery
in why there’s now three
of them.

Three is one more
than can be easily ignored.


Moon dust’s a prophetic,
golden palm ending, worthy
of a crumbled Eqyptian king.
Okay, I’m stretching it a bit.