Across the dark lake, the houses, silhouetted
in heat lightning, hunker down, intent and still
like poker players in a high-stakes game.

Through the tiny openings of the screened-in porch,
which they call here a lanai, the little flies swarm,
drawn by the light.

For a million years before the condominiums,
the shopping plazas, this was the Everglades.
They looked up from tropical blackness to the moon
and stars, but didn't aspire to the unreachable.
When did they learn to love light?

They scramble through the wires, bruising
their wings, impetuous, hot with desire.
The High-Life of the Incandescent-- Broadway,
Hollywood, Las Vegas, the Ginza, Champs Élysée.
It's where the girls are.

They fry on the glass. In the morning
sprinkles like grains of black pepper
on the white table top

.............................................................Israel Lewis