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.
