instrument flight

December 5, 2011

instrument flight

yesterday

as I was walking home,

a firefly landed on my thumb.

I continued on my way

while it found a comfortable perch;

I watched its fishing-pole antennae

cast out into the shallows of this colorless landscape,

and twitch with curiosity

at every new discovery they happened to catch,

bowing, searching, and then springing

up with delight at minnow-miracles

I could not see.

instead, I looked over

its smoothbeautiful leather back,

imagined the secrets that lay furled underneath,

and the starlight

that must have been just waiting

in the wings.

I was drawn to admire

the thin amber legs

that lightly gripped my thumb:

boston ivy clinging

like soft, tiny kisses

spanning not even an inch

of my tender hand.

but then,

inevitably,

the winds changed,

pulling the little creature away

as it blinked a half-mournful

morse-code goodbye,

and I kept walking home.

it was then that I thought about

tracing patterns on the backs of your hands,

remembered thinking

that if my fingers had been fireflies,

I would have left so many henna tattoos

shining, bioluminescent, on your skin.