Lights in a Jar

The night breezes of High Summer carry

the sweetness of pollinating corn;

a million little lanterns rise from the tall grasses

of the pasture. Their wings carry with them the scent of

baking bread from grass seed roasting all day.

The heat of noon still stirs around my temples, but

my ankles are cooled by breezes coming up

from the creek bottoms.

They keep pushing the hot, stale air higher

until my forehead feels their icy sweetness.

The crickets are writing their summer symphonies,

endlessly changing, endlessly repetitious, and after a

tattering day where my stitches have been unraveled,

I can feel my soul repairing itself.

To capture this moment in a jar--little lights, night-song, sweet breezes--

would be a balm like the wonder of firefly lanterns.

Stars above reflect the twinkling lights in the grasses below--

or is it the other way around?

The whispering creek reflects golden lights from the farmhouse--

or do I have that backward?

And my soul weaves itself back together

as a farm cat weaves and purrs around my ankles.