JULY FOURTH NINETEEN EIGHTY TWO

by Donna Joy Kerness

It smelled like fish
getting ready to die
on the Staten Island dock,

our eyes grouped together
stalking a silent black sky-
sharing an old white shawl
we shivered against each other,
as night swelled
with color
carrying our sighs
over bridges
strung with a necklace of lights
a luminous sword
lasered
through the dark
as we Fourth of Julyed
Our arms exploded
into a neon
moment
of infinity———