Clinging to the walls like barnacles,
Simmering, but hidden,
Effervescent vesicles
Nostalgically attached to skin,

Reluctant to give up the care
And bosom of the open room,
Nest quietly in our hair,
But from a sudden gesture bloom,

Gasping for the breath of skies,
Boiling up like rockets
Or like liquid fireflies
Released from cunning secret pockets

In the world’s lurking gas,
Breaching through the surface
Of the water’s liquid glass,
Vanishing on purpose

Back into the waiting air
Like unwinding kilowatts,
The flashbulb’s after glare
That saves our frozen stare

And fills the eye with blinding spots.

Tippet Alley
April 8th, 2001, 2:42 A.M.