two poems by d.s. maolalai

The Glow of Small Lights

when morning fell
it fell with a snowlight,
a grey-silver muscle
of rabbit-fur shadow,
of night taking stars
and then setting them
down over carparks,
on open park
benches, the table-
top flatness
of bus stops.

the world
gone a feather,
such mute 5am,
and the glow
of small lights
amplified by streets
suddenly slick,
sticking and piling
with white lines
of rising
reflection.

the world ahead vague

rain hitting hard.
he was walking
to work. a warm day
though cloudy,
the sky breaking
heavily—eggs
from an over-
turned eggbox.

smearing the pavement;
making every
step sticky, unpleasant
and smelling
of breakfast. he had time
though—he’d been careful
and had left
pretty early. and the world
ahead vague
through his soaking
wet glasses,
strung with the spiderwebs
of streetlights on drops.

he turned, dodged a car
as it ran through
a puddle. watched as the droplets
made divots in dirt. his life,
as it was, rather very
like puddles. his good luck continuing
to hold.