Black Lite in January

This Friday the thirteenth,

the moon an unfiltered LED,

sending misspelled beams of nite lite

dappling the quiescent leaves,

stunned to stillness absolute.

Seen upside-down from the second floor,

eerie, inside-out haloes

swallow themselves whole,

fully absorbed before they ever form.

The cold, aura-free black lite,

looms sinister

and fully, elegantly chic,

like pearls against black cloth

or like a single, motionless, tall-flamed candle

in a blank, empty room.

And now, from out of nowhere,

night-blooming jasmine,

the LED of fragrance,

settles, soothes, suffuses,

tendrils invisible in their woven complexity,

in, out, and everywhere,

embracing the still-new year,

or embalming it.