Follow the Fireflies

Like any eye watching ceaselessly, the moon lights up the night.

The moon sees you.

She is white and sometimes, silver.

As the crickets sing, the insects quietly buzz, the water in the stream trickle through the stones, and the evening breeze blow and move across the grass and trees,

The grasses and leaves responding with a dance and gentle sounds,

Inhale the smell of fresh plants, beautiful flowers, and the wild scent of the vast and dark night.

You can drink the clean, cold water in the stream if thirst stops you

From concentrating on the way the evening breeze touches your skin and runs through the strands of your hair.

Close your eyes and feel the silver shine on this mountain, the plants, the animals, and you.

If Charlene could only watch the fireflies alight like the lights of New York from outer space.

She is not white or silver.

The moon, I mean.

But we’re still jailbirds when it comes to her gaze, we cannot escape.

Maybe the breezes blow because the grasses dance,

Because I can’t live always looking over my shoulder.

All this while, the moon has been staring at us.

Forgive me, for Napoleones is the most paranoid person in the world.

You will fall asleep soon

In many dancing moons.

It just happens eventually, because it never actually happens.

Though this poem is starting to become not un Plaisir to read,

It is your friend forever

As you traverse along the grasses that move in the evening breeze, seen in the silver of the moon.

The trees and their dancing leaves lay ahead, covering the insects that quietly buzz and the stream that trickles.
You already see the fireflies.