​In the dry summer field at nightfall, 

fireflies rise like sparks. 

Imagine the presence of ghosts 

flickering, the ghosts of young friends, 

your father nearest in the distance. 

This time they carry no sorrow,

no remorse, their presence is so light. 

Childhood comes to you, 

memories of your street in lamplight, 

holding those last moments before bed, 

capturing lightning-bugs,

with a blossom of the hand 

letting them go. Lightness returns, 

an airy motion over the ground 

you remember from Ring Around the Rosie. 

If you stay, the fireflies become fireflies 

again, not part of your stories, 

as unaware of you as sleep, being 

beautiful and quiet all around you.


2 thoughts on “Fireflies

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s