Trees make an anachronistic night.
The children are catching fireflies
for clear jars that wait on picnic tables.
They learn each closed hand is a cage.

The adults sit at the tables and watch
the jars fill up with bioluminescence.
It will add such a small light to their faces.
Some of them anachronistically smoke,

anachronistically talk. The silence between
the children moving off into shadows
and leaves lengthens. The silence grows
in the closed fists which glow

as the children race barefoot to deposit
more light in the glass banks of jars.
Their parents feel their faces disappearing
until they pick up the collected light

of the jars and hold them close to their lips.