At the edge of the fairground, a man tossed

a small light, letting it pulse like a firefly. 

 

I wanted to illuminate my fingers,

to paint the sky with falling light. 

 

I clicked my fingers like marbles until they ignited. 

I clumsily tossed sparks into the sky. 

 

I couldn't make that light a part of me.

Couldn't surrender it to its dark flight. 

 

I guided it like a candle through the smoke

of crackling brisket, french fries, and popcorn,

 

through clumps of mud and hay, until the screams

and shouts of the whirligig receded into nothingness.

 

I let it softly illuminate the ride home. 

A fairy I no longer believed in. 

 

A dying star I let expire

in the shrinking universe of my hands.