Fireflies Before Dawn

The soul’s eye trembles,

as light wanes beneath heartbreak.

Winter breathes across the chest,

cradling an ice-cold ache.

Reflections pool in hollow Ginori cups —

too delicate to hold anything at all.

Yet outside the gothic window,

fireflies drift tracing soft runes
on the walls of night,

their ritual dance a silent benediction...
Then — gone.

No trail. No promise.

Morning exhales in smiling clouds,

drenched in gentle aqua tones.

The sun spills liquid gold across the floor.

Everything glistens,

as if grief had never stayed the night.

Finally — waking.

“Go out for work,” she says.

                              - Nodame