Maybe I dreamed them all
those tiny lamps in the night.
Tonight we are empty
the sky and I -
nothing flutters against my cheek,
the only lights flicker from my neighbors' televisions
and the courtyard lamp's faulty wiring.
I sit down on the concrete stoop
still slightly warm from the now-past sun,
wrap my arms around my knees,
shiver in the eleven o'clock breeze
for the lightning bugs,
to come back.