Firefly II

Last summer's fireflys are tracking me

to the final wooded place where I rested

Nights of swarming stars dripped honey-suckle teardrops

down on my dry cages.



Sworn, my hands turned into scrub pine,

misty mornings found my arms upheld,

raised in Confession to the Silent Longing

which took my hands and eyes,

fostering a new home in the far starfields,

my burdens dissolved as

my senses arced,

trembling through twilight

and beyond.



Last summer's fireflys have nearly found me,

I will wait patiently

for their blinking

traffic.