It flew up from the dried grass
into the window glass
and, surprised by the hard air,
fell back against the land
I ran outside
and watched the beat
under its golden
flicker once, twice, before it died.
I held it in my cupped hand
and brought it to the hearth where
I kindled a flame, hoping to reheat
its cooling life. Then
I saw it turn the geological clock
back a tick,
back to metamorphic stone:
from air to ground, buried, then gone.