FIREFLIES

After sundown you see the first

Out of the corner of your eye, then another

In the middle distance, the gloaming,

Where a grove of maples conspires,

Darkly thinking night-thoughts

While these inklings of light multiply

Glowing only as they ascend,

As if the effort to rise and shine dulled them

At a preordained height

No higher than a child’s head, or

So it seems, while there is daylight enough

Bending along the broad curve of the sky

For us to glimpse the fading world they ornament.

Within the hour we can see a hundred

Bearing messages to the departing day.

They are supposed to be mating, soundlessly.

And if they were a chorus, they would crescendo

At the climax or quintessence of twilight,

At the time that is neither day nor night.

After that the fireflies make themselves scarce,

Having no love for the deeper shades of evening,

Except for the brave few who astonish us

By rising above the treetops in darkness

Where one might be mistaken for a star.

— Daniel Mark Epstein