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.