Fireflies (Repost)

You sleep distant, my Alaska.
Awake, you are so close.
We talk, tumbling.
You are reminded of impossible fireflies
in a cold, cold country,
in the year you spent sleepwalking,
wanting myth.
Life dashed you cold awake,
as real as my fingers
tracing your collarbone,
the bow of your lips
as sun warms the window.
I think I see fireflies
in the hanging dust, a wish.
Today I want nothing but this.