He danced around a bonfire
with his hands waving to the sky.
Half naked, his shorts showing through.
Flames were licking his body, his feet moved
rapidly, in an urgent motion
defying all gravity.

When I met him
he was the counterpoint of all those
waiting in line, behind –
he could see faeries in the back of my garden
and fireflies were his most intimate fellows.

Now
years later
Time achieving its duty,
compelling him to spread milky lotions
on his face and ex muscled limbs
dropping
down
on him,
to moisture his skin and hair –
both greying.

Faeries have vanished,
fireflies switched off.

© Walter Ruhlmann

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