Evenings We Caught Lightning Bugs in Mason Jars
By Jason Fritz

Rushes of glass over grass
After those low yellow glows
That died out in the manner
Of votive-candle-flame—
But quicker. We thought
Ourselves celebrities in front
Of that paparazzi camera-
Flash-barrage-mirage
That disappeared as we neared.
Their unsteady bodies were
There before us in darkness:
The awe and awkwardness
Of youth that we might
Catch but never keep.