August Twenty-Second
it was dark not stormy, as nights will be and there are a thousand points of light and more, for there are many not seen for each that is and they are massing, each light a platoon and they are massing, and now, the mass is moving and the lights are going out, God must not see them coming, they must look like stars, and if they are backlit by a streetlamp, fly up a tree and now, they are storming heaven, lightning cannot strike its bugs, and six winged angels cannot fly, their wings get in the way, and their halos, fireflies, not fire, disperse and the fireflies pull off all six wings and then, God himself strides out but trips on unlit fireflies and falls to his fallen angels, and everybody roasts, and thanks Him for his bounty. and the fireflies light up, and there was light. Last night the fireflies stormed heaven, and conquered, then, the angels fell.
it was grey, not blue as night skies will be, and there were a thousand trees, blocking each a thousand more and fickle, the wind blows and gathers vortices, and how the winds are flowing around trees and between trees and under leaves on sidewalks and no one knows and weak winged birds cannot fly and an eagle banks away, it cannot land or dive the wind is not beneath its wings and coldly flows wind through a wall and past a streetlamp and gathers, eddies follow vortices follow circles of wind raising and dancing and twisting the leaves and they twirl mad their paths that never touch the ground. Last night fireflies stormed heaven and conquered, then, the angels fell.
it was quiet with motions as night sounds will be, and a thousand voices cry in the wilderness and there is no one to hear them and a tree falls making no sound clatter scratching sidewalks crinkle crushing leaves and pawing through the grass creaking through the night howls the rustling and trips on unlit lamps noises center around around to hear and draw in closer quiet with their motion but they say so much if only it could be understood, and still silence is not quiet motion. Last night fireflies stormed heaven and conquered, then, the angels fell.
There is a man alone. Fireflies have conquered heaven, but her wants have conquered love. There is a man quiet and slow in motion; she has given him no hurry. Perhaps to he who waits comes the voice and words female, from what he wants to hear. Last night, fireflies stormed heaven. And conquered then, his spirit falls. His mother called him Son, and he walks the park tonight.