Alive

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