What the Light Knew
The summer knew us then by name —
by bare feet, by the particular hush
of a screen door remembering to close.
We were citizens of grass and late light,
of nothing asked and nothing owed,
the garden giving freely what it had.
I did not know, those long gold evenings,
that I was learning how to love the world —
only that the fireflies were rising,
and my hands were full of them.
Inspired by a tutorial by Rita. poetry ©Stacy Stephens