I do know now how the sparks can climb,
in broadening arcs of ions—
the warmth they develop inside themselves
like some permission or perception.
However at ten, it appeared mystical;
their frown, glowing, then invisible.
Gone. Save the odor of ozone.
I used to be younger and scared and alone.
However the buzz and brightness started
anew in darker shades of blue. Then
electrons leaping spoke to me,
not in phrases, however in dignity:
how they escaped the field the place they
had been born. Joined in a plasma haze,
they rose unafraid. So it appeared.
I imagined them as sunbeams,
then as disrupting photo voltaic flares—
distant however, in time, reaching right here
as unseen bursts to recombine,
smaller elements of the grand design.
