Sparks of fire dot the night
meandering in trails
of sudden bright, and flashing dark—
seen. And quickly lost to sight.
The light ignites! A yellow ball
appears beside my arm.
I flash-grab at it greedily,
but powered by alarm
it disappears beyond recall.
I never know where I would take
them if I caught the sparks.
Collect them all in mason jars,
and watch the yellow arcs
at nighttime while I lie awake?
But just like fleeting bursts of sight,
like art and fairy tales,
I long to hold a spark of fire:
through dark and winding trails–
illumination in the night.