Little lights dart through the air
between little outstretched hands
a bug, caught between index and ring
brought the the eye,
the thing longs for flight
I'll stay,
but only for a moment.
There are places to go and though
I am but a speck in this vernal land
there are places to go.
Little light, little bug
flickers off into the night
Come back! Come back!
But it's gone.
Made for the air.
Not the Bell-Jar.
Not this place.
Not these hands.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
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