Tiffany Noonan
How I wonder
what you are
with palms cupped.
Little bug bottle.
(*)
Bodies tar-black
against sunset. July’s
children come home
(*)
star-handed. Fireflies
wave on — off —
on. Fingers curl
(*)
like aster petals.
Hands open. Light
escapes toward me.
(*)
Moving now. Faster.
We become the
lamps that remain.
