The Lulling Calm of the North American Firefly

A fire blusters beneath the treads
A pit of scorpions yearn to sting
A collaboration
of snakes in dream

Loud whiskers pierce the flesh
Swollen skin will follow soon
Thank God my shelves are stocked
Swing open the linen cabinet
and stare down old witch hazel
begging to take the flare away

Calibration off-kilter
weakened flexors
tourniquet

Fireflies
Outside the window closed
play a symphony
who would have thought
a tiny insect
fluttering through the night-time cold
could have
so masterfully
composed

The thoughts that a mind
amidst involuntary deprivation of sleep
can conjure…

awake, yet too tired to move
you sit there
wishing you brought the pen to bed
Wishing
as you see it taunting you from the desk across the room
that you could harness the psychic energy that abounds
and draw that inkblood to where you are

so when it happened
I could not believe

so there I tired
with improbable pen in hand

and I couldn't believe

all the thoughts disappeared
all the fireflies turned off their bright
and lids sealed the iris closed

and the kitten
it curled, into a little ball
right between back thigh and the underside of knee

It purred so loudly
but you, now, could not hear