CALL ME BELOVED

it must be twigs tripping the sensor,
the spotlight down the alleyway flickering
into a sickly yellow light – just for seconds
at a time into the dawning night.

I can’t help but humanize it, standing
with my hands full luggage by the door
to our apartment, it’s almost pleading –
a steady and stammering
are you there? off again.
are you there?