As of an ungrounded grief,
Bluish sparks fly upward from
Under the shadow-thickened,
Tree-covered part of night toward
What can yet be construed as
Dimmed azure, while the summer
Glow of soft streetlamp light hums
Along the wide sidewalk through
Listening leaves: fireflies
Far from the sea rise in an
Untroubled-looking midland,
Soundless, their gaps in the dark
Soundless, and the thunder soon
Coming with a crash across
Glistening eaves will be no
Answer, echo, or noisy
Amplifying of echo.
I will await what the ground,
The great, grass-skinned ground, will say.
As the Sparks Fly Upward
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