WALKING WITH FIREFLIES

Dusk blues the rain damp hills.

Trees lean into the landscape,

their shadows tumbling

into dark.

 

The June you feared

Blossoms into uncertainty,

into a June of no answers,

early cicadas, the late mayfly

facing you through the glass.

 

This is the June of aimless walking,

the trumpeting of the crow,

fluting frogs,

bats stirring the sunset yolk.

This is the June of walking with fireflies

when the incandescence of the heart

finally burns.

 

You stride across sour grass

flickering lost details

at the orange edges of memory,

illuminate for yourself

with each blink of the eye

what you were thin, what you are now.

 

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