They came through gaps in the window screens,

unseen. In that house a squirrel chewed a hole


through a stairwell, a bat curled up over a door jam,

a robin made her nest in the Impatiens pot. Rats


in the compost, and gopher holes hidden in the tall

grass. But it was the fireflies who pulled the outside in:


who drew into my room the canopy of night,

floated me through spinning vortices of starlight


and filled the empty spaces of my aloneness

with their ecstatic dance. One light switched on


would end it all, all joy drained away. One shaft

or headlight would mean less lovemaking,


less light in the world. Luicioles, lucciola to Dante

who filled the eighth circle of hell with their flames


they were so many. How many moons did I distract

from their traceless orbits. Maybe, just maybe


those starlit roads we blot out with our city lights

would lead to somewhere. In the rainforests of Borneo


there’s a bioluminescence lighting up everything–

except where we’ve been. Those are the paths


we use to find our way home.