In secret woods, tucked between business parks,
The fireflies wake early for their evening
Dance, which today begins at noon. The sparks
Of yellow-green presaging the lightning
Which gathers above my deepening shade.
And I contemplate the early leaving
Which severe weather on my way has made–
Storms of words which would make clocks deceiving,
Calendars fly forward years in a score;
Erasing timelines and expectations,
Evoking grieving songs long before
My time. Dirges before celebrations,
Like a firefly dance at noon in the storm,
Whirlwind awakened in fire that’s not warm.

You can listen to me read it here