How high can you fly?
My cousin smears your cousins on her shirt to
make it glow.
Fly higher,
higher.
I like my shirts clean.
The higher I grow,
the higher you climb,
weaving through pines taller and older than
you or I will ever be.

How far can you fly?
I forget what summer feels like
until you arrive
wilted flowers ferment beneath bare feet
collecting grime as I
chase after you,
slowing with each year and each capture,
knowing more and more
it will not last.

How long can you stay?
As a child, I kept you in jam jars
jiggling in the grasp of stringy fingers.
That green light always brightest
outside of prison glass.
Time passed; jam jar numbers dwindled,
until suddenly, I stand and watch
as a skyful of fireflies
fly by my empty arms
Free to stay, flying far and high.