Fireflies for Bedside Jars

catching fireflies for bedside jars
in the dull whistle of cricket rings;—
all I’ve known and all I’ve seen,
I remember the dusk and the silhouette of the trees.

pink-brown fire and gold sky spreading
like the moist warmth on my face;—
breathing in the breath of pre-sleep,
after a bath into the smell of clean sheets;
all I’ve known and all I seen
the dusk outside the window, and the silhouette of the backyard trees.

stars in the sky, stars on my nightstand:
the refugees of a memory
that opens into summer night streets—
to follow a young prophet released from a cocoon,
to propound among skips and scurries
over sidewalk cracks, looking to the moon for direction
through the fingers of the silhouettes of trees.