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.