Chasing Fireflies

From my front porch step
I watch the fireflies alight
upon shoots of grass
in the dried-up creek beds
on a warm summer night,
flashing like bulbs
from a thousand tiny cameras
beneath a canvas of cottonwoods,
all swaying to the symphony of blinking lights

like the way your dress used to flow
in a soft prairie breeze,
taking each strand of golden hair
and letting it brush across
your freckled face, scrunched up in a smile
while we chased fireflies like children,
grasping playfully and coming up with only palmfuls of air
and your hand clasped tightly in mine.

I sit here now in shimmering silence
and let the incandescent lights
illuminate my thoughts, tracing back
to when we so blissfully and blindly sought
what only flickered and faded before our eyes,
and I can't help but wish
you were here with me tonight
to take my hand like you once did

and run with me,
chasing those fireflies,
only this time hanging on
to what was there all along.