that the backsides of these little insects
contained the fire their names promised.
Still I let them delicately step
across my hands,
wonder at their magic,
respecting them
above all other six-legged creatures,
pets for an evening, then wild once again.
Now I look, caught by surprise
by the field of fireflies before me,
wild, uncatchable, and free.
sparks,
embers of the earth
wild, hot, and fragile
shooting, swirling, sailing
©2008 Donna Jo Wallace
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