Now is the fleeting time of fireflies,
The intermezzo prefacing night’s theme.
The world transposed appears before my eyes
Astonishing, like waking in a dream.
A late, listless breeze murmurs in the air,
A spent summer day dissipates downstream.
The searing sun has put away his glare,
And twilight tiptoes onto softer skies,
Where distant clouds loom like unexpressed prayer—
Dense, pent-up masses that billow and rise.
But just as they reach the climactic note,
The interlude fades, the orchestra sighs,
And all that is left is what I then wrote.
That, and the flickering lights still afloat.