Carl Newlen

Stars

- July 10, 2009, 3:20 pm | Poetry

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On the cold first evening past summer
I think back to when I was a boy,
running barefoot around the yard,
catching lightning bugs
in a mason jar.

I would lay in the warm grass
watching them, invisible,
except their yellow-green lights.
So patient they seemed,
their need for freedom.
When I let them go
they floated higher
than I could reach.

That`s how it was then.

Tonight I want them back,
to set them free in my room,
switch off the light,
watch stars be born
in the air, then die.

 

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