Lightning bugs laid dead all over the island.
There had been an unseasonable snap of cold
previously unheard of in the area.
Blurred thoraxes coagulated near the cattails out back
in dark masses,
the length of a baby or so.

Unraveling your fingers across their dark husks,
I watched them ripen
like black bibles.
Tattered forewings wincing
in the half-
morning rain.

Fireflies produce a "cold light",
devoid of infrared or ultraviolet frequencies.
This chemically produced light is uninhibited by logic
or necessity,
occupying a lithe minnow pool
between science and beauty.

At night along certain river banks
fireflies exhibit near perfect phase synchronization of their light emissions,
exposing the framework behind every living thing.
This is the nature of our midnights
when no one else is left.