This poem was recently revised, and because it never appeared on the blog, it has been re-posted out of chronological order. 

There Was a Firefly Inside

June 24 2003

There was a firefly inside,

and I was reminded of the Chinese

who keep crickets

to bring luck,

tiny creatures, who don’t need much.

So each one persists

scraping away at its hard external carapace

- oblivious to captivity

and content to wait,

irresistibly signalling

for some passing mate.

This firefly fascinates me.

The long thin wings

placed across his back

like neatly stowed oars.

His small tapered body

with its intricate detail.

But like his beetle cousin

a homely brown.

And his cool green glow,

blinking-out its secret code

like semaphore.

The inventor of chemical light,

so uncanny, you’re sure he’s plugged in to some higher power

of Nature.

In all her fearsome symmetry

not just photosynthesis, but its undoing;

taking in plants

putting out light.

And in her modesty, as well,

complexity concealed

in a form so small and plain.

Just imagine

being born with the gift of flight.

And even more improbably

the creation of light

at will.