Back when we were eggs and larvae
we use to play with sparklers--
let the wind blow our smoke-streams away,
try to catch the sparks.
I would stare into the synthetic light
until my tiny retinas burned.
It hurt, but it was beautiful,
and I didn’t want to let it go--
not even when the light was fading
and the ashes made me flinch.

You’d think I’d have learned by now
to look away
from things that hurt me,
to stay away from the man-made fire…
to let go before I got burned.
You’d think that I’d be smart enough
to keep walking,
to say goodbye,
to release
the dying light--
the lovely light—
you.
I must be pretty stupid,
huh?
To keep hanging on…