It’s a little early for fireflies
yet I sit on the unmowed grass of my backyard
anxious for them, knowing their numbers
are dwindling

I remember childhood summer evenings with a soft glow
lifting my arms in embrace, trying to catch one 
in my palm, watching the flicker of light on my finger,
awe that these creatures produce magic

I am like a ship in the night;
I am seeking a lighthouse to guide me
and watch as the last bulb
burns out

Should I bring a child into a world
that has lost its light?