to sprinkle across fields,
a rustling in the copse alerts
these days as scars, nights more.
You ascend the hill alone, save
getting lost in
translation shift too quickly to
that fire 30
years ago and that fly
on the VP’s head that won the
saying we all
have a fire story to
tell, this one’s yours. Who really owns
why she swallowed
the firefly, or who she
is. Only that now they have gone
torch’s fault, nor
the cardinal’s, nor its
nest. The man on the roof didn’t
for smoke before
climbing down. You didn’t
believe it could happen to you.
you had nothing to lose.
It took decades to learn how to