After all the foof and fizz
of the fire works
fierce energy squandered
lightning spent
embers drifting down
there are still fire flies
appearing and disappearing
with their own lime light
beneath the trees at dusk
tracing figures in the still air,
on and off, slow and lazy early,
an earnest staccato later
on and off yellow green
so familiar and silent under
the trees and in
the air off on
and off on
again
|