There are fireflies in DC
that blink and buzz and
amble north of Capitol Hill.
For some, they are warnings,
little Paul Reveres, insect continentals,
who have seen the British of
our child nations, next enemy.
For some they are decoration,
Christmas bulbs or slow neon
confetti used to celebrate the
warm summers of this European city.
And for some they are science,
a forgettable chemistry locked
away in the glowing abdomen
of an otherwise unimpressive bug.
but for me, they are lighthouses,
small fires in this noble city,
not to warn of the treacherous rocks ahead,
but to show us sea-tossed Americans
that among the waves, there still,