On Things Unnoticed

One summer night, with twilight approaching,
returning with head down, lost in thought,
I entered the field by my house--
the one I'd driven past each day for two years
the one I'd walked through with the dog,
stepping over hollows of new-mown stubble,
the one where a swing was tucked up into the branches
of a lonely pine sentinel, where sun's rays slanted
in rising and setting, where crickets sang,
where mice roamed, where rain fell, where wind blew,
where frost settled, where snow piled up,

and on this evening, I glanced up to see
a bioluminescent world of blinking orbs.
The shock of their beauty startled me,
forced the air from my chest.
It was as if the whole unnoticed field
had exploded in a mating dance
of fireflies, just for me.