Fireflies hide on stems
of unmown grass,
wait for dusk. The falling sun
pulls them up. Five, six, ten lift
themselves three,
four, twelve feet into the trees.
Their abdomens flash
yellow, their wings blur.
In the still morning, tiger
swallowtails drop from underneath
green leaves. They tease nectar
from the buddlea. Unheard,
their wings flutter as they
to wander. Like boxers, two spar
upward. Like Japanese
lanterns, ten now twenty
hang from purple flowers.
rosette maleficarum
spring 2018
