Bailey Collins, Staff Writer

In the darkness, I see fireflies

Little embers

That float from stone lips and spark

Hanging on the threads of the air

Eddying around the soft vibrations of speech

And glowing with a giddy dance

That echoes within their sound

Wonder in the firefly spirit

BEAUTY, the word was

And BEAUTIFUL, the word floats

And spins

And burns away in flakes of ashen ink.