Strawberry Moon in June
Sarah Cummins Small

10:40 & the moon hides coyly just out of sight
behind the black hump of Horseshoe Ridge,
taking its own sweet time, a slow rise, a tease
barely outlining the trees. I squeeze your hand, dark
blind:  we will have no street-light bright moonlit path
shining along Sparks Lane tonight.

Fireflies, though: those sparkling fairies
light the way this hot black summer night.
A thousand thousand dazzling dancers
Sweating in white-hot disco ball frenzy:
Flashing their hellos, looking for love,
illuminating their essence.

I’m here.

I’m here.

I’m here.

Pick me.

[With apologies to the author, formatting could not be maintained for this page; for the original, see here]