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Laughing Goddess of Light

Zoom, carom, bang.

Up and off, 

back, across.


Like an acrobat,

all dressed in spangled white,

she flips astride a gull’s outstretched glide,

hitches a momentary ride,

then flinging harder 

as the wing flicks her,

flinging, rocketing  up the tallest buildings  


She soars,

then sprints down,

down those polished, evanescent walls like rain,

laughing off the glass again.


Down, down.

Down and touching everyone,

ricocheting off their rings, wet lips and eyes,

around the diamond links of metal fence,

then sparking off, off the barbs and pointed tops.


Riding cars like skating ice, 

skiing out beyond their roofs,

up and over everyone.

Climbing statues, circling the whorls, 

the curls and coils of streetlamps and carved facades,

breaking, crashing, splintering into sudden rainbows.


Flashing, pouring, crashing, magnifying,

gossiping, revealing, setting right, 

shocking, surprising, always bright.

Up and back an acrobat singing off the wires.

Bobbing, tickling, chuckling

off the fingers, off the hats,

giggling, chortling off every single surface.


Bright or colored,

either one,

the goddess of  light

has all the fun.




Erich von Hungen currently lives in San Francisco, California under a giant Norfolk pine in a century old house between Golden Gate Park and the Pacific Ocean.

His writing has appeared in The Colorado Quarterly, The Write Launch, Green Ink Press, The Ravens Perch,  From Whispers To Roars, Ink Drinkers, Versification, Sledgehammer and others.

He has written 4 collections of poems and has  recently launched "Bleeding Through: 72 Poems Of Man In Nature".

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