Thursday, July 2, 2015

Fireflies


 By Dane L. Ficklin

I can see you if I close my eyes.

The sun is dying. The sky burns with reds and yellows through air thick and heavy with the heat of the passing day. The wind softly blows light caresses across our skin, and we are soothed. It dances with the dusklight through the leaves of the trees and the sounds of insects, rising slowly with each passing moment. It is a chorus of crickets, singing the songs of summer.

The light and the wind play in your hair, and you smile. The world in my heart turns for that sight.

You touch my hand.

I feel the easy sheen on your skin. I feel the world shift as you spin and laugh, delighting at the simple joy of the sound. The grass beneath your feet is your stage, and on it I see you. Mossy limbs from the trees curve overhead, a scaffold to the sky that seems so close when you are close, and so far when you are far. A sky that births stars, in ones and in twos, as today creeps closer to tomorrow, as it ages from orange to purple.

The sun slips behind the world, and mourns to be gone. You are missed by light, and so light comes back.

Like the stars in that near sky, close enough to be touched, the light is born in ones and in twos. You and the light dance upon your green stage, enthroned by the deepening sky. It flits and twirls around you, alights upon your form, is ensconced with wonder by your two hands, and at last set free.

I long to be so free as the light in your hands, upon your face and in your eyes. Free to touch and to feel, free to live and die a sun, a star, for every today and tomorrow, until the tomorrows run out and all that is left is me and you and the light between us that never fades.

Where even if I close my eyes, I can still see you.