New Light
Old light acknowledges
new light.
Someone fills the night
with long descriptions of mountains
and cycling.
The word replaces the document.
The ping replaces the radar station
then goes away,
becoming small and mysterious
on the horizon.
It may be old light,
but it's new to me.
Someone fills my nights
with cautionary flight patterns,
stories designed to make me stay put:
she wore sweat socks
with the glass slippers.
The children who learned to fly
never learned to land.
Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. His poems have appeared in Conduit, Poetry Northwest, and Another Chicago Magazine.