‘summer night…perfection of thought…’
with apologies to Wallace Stevens ~
Despite the rain, the fireflies flicker.
At the treeline, they hang in branches
diamante on blue so dark it burns.
Our house becomes a cottage
in the dark, shrinks strangely
in the summer heat, its recent build
only a mask for four walls and a fence.
A gentle lethargy falls on us – velvety,
still. Cicadas sing, moths dart into light.
The night descends.