lemon-light

It is noon. A dusty wide-eyed child is afraid.
Ribbons float the weight of a parade along –
each corner flushed with canary-sound

The fluttery eyes now hide, when they perceive
heavy-handed swirls, garnishes of alabaster specks!
The flashes romp and rove, circling through the view
of the small sun-shivered child, who blinks and squints
when shading opens up to sunlight;
(it glints so fiercely, mid-July.)

But then the back-road calls so sweetly-soft,
a porch-light memory returns (gently, this time),
while dandelion fireflies
follow themselves, past noontide into night.