ghosts becoming

      From jumping star to star,
  Tempest-sailing a solar flare,
Lassoing the ice-hot comet
And wince-staring into the glare
  Of all glory, my fireflies in a jar;
      To loose the lid, I draw tempted-near,
            Only to wring it rightly tight—
      But to save them,
  My brightly sprites.
And, with them, come streaking down
  As a shard-of-sublime
Flung from a thousand light-years afar,
      White-char on blue-mantled atmosphere,
    Clutching-dear our handfuls of stolen time—
          Back to earth we fall,
All heaven-heavy inferno-ball.
            I let them go.
    I flail them in.
        I ebb and flow
In the cloud-shadow of a father aflight.
          I love them whole.
  I love them away.
      I love them back,
And hug enough not to beg them stay.
    My wings swing ‘round;
  In full circle, they whistle through the air,
        Their singed tips sing in wisps of smoke
    That our memory is everywhere.
            A ghost becoming
      On wishes and what-of-ing,
I pare a care to the core of one thing:
          My love for them,
      How I should adore the dream
        Where my heart can be steady-lit
    By the blush of their ready beam;
How that’s something
      Worth star-jumping for—
  Again and again, it would just-finely seem.

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    Poetry: Counting Dimes
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