Luminescence

Brief gold against the darkening field— fireflies spelling messages only darkness can read.

Each blink a small death, a light released back to the air that once held it, burning.

We were children counting illuminated seconds, trying to net what resists capture.

Now we know: the beauty lives in the releasing, in the dark that makes the light visible.

The field forgets us all— the children, the fireflies, their small burning breath.