I climb the stairs in my sleeping 
home, the porch light on, the foyer light off.
Everything is dark, but past my kitchen,
outside the sunroom window I can see yellow
blips against navy night.  Fireflies
like tiny bulbs flick off only to reappear someplace new.
I know I have better things to do, but I stand there anyway,
watching this never-ending spectacle of dancing light.
Something about summer’s first fireflies makes me want to scamper
out into my backyard barefoot and chase
those brilliant bugs like childhood
dreams.  Maybe I won’t catch any.  Maybe they’ll sneak
between my fingers before I can close my fist,
but wouldn’t it be fun to try?