He is Hank to anyone who knows.
When he drinks
it is just enough
to release something bright,
something dark.

Hank wears a June bug shell –
shining blue, purple, red, green,
reflecting light like a saw-toothed rainbow,
up close
monstrous,
breathtaking.

Trapped in a cold water room
rhythmic thumping against window glass,
buzzing
lethargic
ominous.

Someone opens the window,
releases him to hum at the light,
in the dark

When the window closes
he returns
to rhythm,
glass,
the room he cannot reach.