folded just to the south of my rhomboid major
lies a jar of fireflies
no idea of who captured them there--or exactly why
do they represent some mark of meanness or merely accidentally trapped during a storm
do they come from a trail to the river or some forgotten mountain passage
do they like it here within this tiny impossible mason jar folded
just to the south of my rhomboid major
somedays I barely notice it
somedays there is a rumbling
somedays a burn ....
they are restless as they twitter & light
tapping the glass--trying to escape into the pinkness of being
a life ever so brief
wishing for the space beyond breath & bone
yet gloriously aware of how fortunate it is to be a firefly
open the lid
find a field of cattails & meadow daisies and call it home
