Sweet street lamp, you dwell to ***-
ide the left & right hemispheres of the fall tree’s
mind, your lone arm reaches out, fixed,
like one of an aspiring actor,
acting like a soup ladle; your light nourishes,
as the neighbors’ broth in the night.

Sweet street lamp, you craft shadows for
puppeteering in little Ann’s bed-
room, the Rorschach ray on her wall
does the Peter Pan, creeping in through the blinds,
manifesting a makeshift nightlight.

Above you, branches move in mazes:
All in the possibility of the dark.