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.
Poetry: Counting Dimes