Bright copper sparks from the sidewalk
in strong spring light. Peer down. Curved
copper back of a speck-sized bug, dome
of some microscopic faith—flaring, flaring.
Dogs’ feet, people’s feet, stroller wheels pass
heedlessly above. On it basks, a dot alive.
This poem is dedicated to my friend Malcolm Pearcey,
who entered my mind while I wrote these lines and who
visits again every time I think of them