Alive
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
