How you rise from my palm face up when I’m alarmed.
Concentrating on the pain, the endurance, again and again.
You rise, I feel the pop as your little legs leave my hand.
The tickle as your wings accidently caress my skin.
Then you heat, you glow.
The burning, oh the burning begins yellow,
then red then not quite white.
I can see softly the hover before a darting flight.
Firelight like a shooting star on it’s way to a target.
Locked on, control gone.
Once it’s released it’s bygone’s be bygone.
©G.P Williamson 2017