But more akin to bioluminescence
As performed by fireflies, late on summer nights
After everyone has fallen asleep.
If you please, though, not those horrible creatures
Of the deep, dark ocean, who use their eerie lights
To attract hapless prey, whom they capture and gnash
With sharp teeth. No offense, guys, but that’s a
Pathetic way to go about your life.
It’s not so much an old flame
But more akin to an old spice—
Not the toiletry,
I mean stray flakes of paprika or turmeric or chili powder,
Trapped in the thin cracks of a clay pot.
Ready to announce themselves in one or two random bites
Of an otherwise bland if nutritious casserole
Or meat dish.
Cherish the young children
Who color their lives in the palette
Of the Crayola Eight-Box.
And who demand your attention in
Matters of the here and now, because
Tomorrow and yesterday do not exist.
Cherish the merciful God who grants
Solace, sanctity, and peace to all who seek it,
Or so we pray.
Cherish the circus tent, that realm of
Acrobats, jugglers, and clowns,
Poodles that jump through flaming hoops,
The daredevil flying out of a cannon,
Band music and bright spotlights and oohs and aahs from
An audience of all ages, despite the years having morphed it all
Into a chain of