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Fireflies

miniature anarchists
tear across tiled floor
through gates and attack everything in sight
watching bark chips fly
while traversing slices of sidewalk
protruding, nipping propelling me forward
concrete crumbles chew at my feet
my pack turns from salt to bitter
finally asphalt surrenders to scrubgrass
it crunches between my toes
as if fire hazard is god’s plan
the view broadens away from artifice
I shuck my baggage and lay back against the dirt
time licks the palms of my hands
as fireflies create heavens below the treeline

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