A few minutes past six,
as light dims on
the Monday chores,
they appear,
on my right,
beyond a pale green
pre-summer canopy.
Six lamps. Or is it more?
Oh, the inadequacy of vision!
They, the fireflies,
hang in the air, a straight string;
dot on the line of sight my
seat provides,
through random banters
and toward specifics in history,
for the politics of posterity.
-- Leslie
