Fourth of July

Tonight I watched the original fireworks.
Little specks of sun, falling
like confused embers
conspiring against gravity.

Upwards, up, up, out of the grass,
they danced, moving up just like miniature
fireworks, little lights on a string, first invisible,
then transformed into bright booming beauties,

Exploding, silent, without the death-chemicals
to give them their tinsel glow,
and how brilliantly they glimmer,
over dogwoods and tree stumps!

"The comfort of fireflies...
long gone before daylight," croon The Cardigans,
croon the synchronized flitters,
a song etched in every ribbon-y flight.

Under a red and blue and red and blue
and bluish white striped sky,
surrounded by the miniature winged flash bulbs,
I feel placid, gleeful, wordlessly content.

This twilight scene, ancient, imbued with timeless beauty,
makes me think there's never been
a glistening as beautiful as that summer sight,
or ever will there be.