The fireflies floated up from the grass.
At the top of the yard, they signalled
to me. I swiped one from the air
and peeked through the cracks of my fingers
to watch its flicker.
I must spend each night alone with my mirrors
around me: books, photographs, pillows,
and an open space. I do not trust
myself in sleep; I will not drop off
into the leisure of a dream. I am the keeper
of this night and its silences.
We lay in the yard and watched the bats
swoop and scream. I could not believe
their blindness as they dove and punched
at the stars. I held my breathing
so they would not hear me.
Sometimes I sit at this window for hours
with a candle behind me in the room.
No bats pass through this sky. It has
no real darkness. And when I see a star,
I watch it disappear through my fingers.
