The Longest Days

The longest days are upon us again
and the gift of fireflies
welcomes me home at midnight—
smiles in the darkness
before sweet sleep closes my mind,
lets me rest from my weary wanderings
on the road to somewhere, near anywhere,
past no where.

It is known in certain circles,
and on the paths of some women,
that bones in small children
and wings of new angels
only grow while the body slumbers.
Layers of fine calcification
and downy feathers
gather like dust around me.
At first translucent specks flicker
in the yellow sun of morning--
then flash as daydreams.
Before I know what has happened
I am covered in memory.
I can’t tell the difference anymore
between the white petals of daisies
and the melting cold of snowflakes
caught in my eyelashes in December.

Somehow it doesn’t matter.
I love them both equally
for their beauty—
two children to be embraced,
then cast like stranded starfish
into the great waters of time.

If you come to me today,
walking slowly toward the fountain
that flows gently from my heart,
I will drop all intentions to the floor
and follow you into flight.
My bones are hollow now,
like any creature who must fly.
And my eyes,
they can’t help but fall in love
with the cloudless sky.