Fireflies fill the night with sparks –
flicker, flare,
like faulty electricity.

She feels for the sandy track
with naked feet.

The pines and hickories
have blocked out
all the light.

In the dark
the chill lake shocks her
into gasp.

She wades waist-deep,
stops to get her bearings.

In the round gap the trees
have left, so many stars
the night can’t breathe,

the water’s mirror staggered
by their weight.

She’s swept round
in a carousel of fireflies,
a dizzy spin of stars.
Gill McEvoy

If you have any comments on this poem,  Gill McEvoy would be pleased to hear from you.