Mason Jar

Most miracles
             be small—
lightning bugs

flicking off
             & on
in the dusk before

the storm, hoping
              to be caught
by fire

& each other.
              Instead, children
capture them winking

in jars once
              filled with pennies
or peaches put away

for winter, this waning light
              they drown in
without the air

they are
              meant for.
In this heat

little keeps—
               see how your hat
wilts, held

over your heart to honor
               today the dead
who cannot say, yet still

share your name.