For the Light
Little bombs parade the night streets,
streetlamps the gravestones of kin, light
lighting the way for light. Me, suffering
your bee-sting, your breathing, light
in the small hallucination of our garden,
through the window, leaking on the leeks, light,
I follow you, uncover an ecstasy of deaths-head hawkmoths,
fluting, fluttering, burning their bodies up to light.
O, patient one, resister, refuser, revolver, the fire
does not go low, you don’t let it, you light,
you low, on your knees before my god-parts,
my god-legs parting, you drunk at the stream,
torn at the seam of me, light—
Ambalila Hemsell is a writer, musician, and educator from Colorado. She holds a BA from Reed College and an MFA from the Helen Zell Writers’ Program. Her poetry can be found in Riprap Literary Journal and is forthcoming in The American Literary Review.