Into the mist of time
light is lost if only to the intruding eye;
a firefly bobbing in its wake a web of imagining,
a mobile mosaic drawing forth
its fluid flickering from its genesis of fire.
O the lucent leap
from flame to breath on the sharp edges of the air,
pulsing its feeble bid for life
where life is loosely bound
deep in the dusk of a curving leaf!
I who have come to love the dew
must love a firefly
and all the cold veins that drive each alchemy of sap
into the hearts of flowers,
The feeble glow that clings unsteadily to air
and soon must perish in the dark.
