The Bureau of Firefly Safety had instituted a catch-and-release program. They began promoting the use of eco-friendly mason jars, made of clay. We all used to go out to the jungle and catch fireflies in these big clay mason jars. Inside the jars, the fireflies would develop small societies, hierarchical mainly although a few rudimentary democracies as well. At first rain, the clay would melt, and the fireflies would carry their modern ideals to more savage orchards. Thus, the firefly population expanded in a way the Bureau approved as “mostly natural.”

A blindfold comes off like a starter pistol and I am running through the jungle, kicking clay pots as I go, my legs are the space after an ellipsis, SMASH a pot shatters- clay shards- an assembly of fireflies SMASH blinding SMASH a million tiny voices cry out, I am carrying a glass thimble and lid, behind me the jungle goes galaxy out of control, clay dust cakes to my nostrils as I pull for breath, SMASH my legs demand this even as the jungle begins to run out, trees thinning, SMASH I leap into the air, swing from a vine very jaguar, there it is, the last firefly, I scoop her into the glass thimble, screw on the lid, press it into my wrist until the skin opens, press harder, sting and pulp SMASH veins out of the way and sew up the wound, blood gone, jungle gone, jars gone, wrist pulsing dimly, leading me home.

We broke into
a Theatre so
I could read You
all my poems.
The Lights were off.
Between Us,
a pixieKnife,
one wrist open,
firefly out

After the fireflies. You are a back pocket flashlight. I am a jungle a jaguar. We are in this big clay mason jar, rebuilding society. More savage orchards on the other side.