Fireflies

There’s creation in the distance separating dreams from the obscene.
The cremation of malignance and a tender fear of righteous pity:
a quaking promise that there’s meaning, shaking all your windows.
A coruscating swarm of fireflies, raining doubt upon your doorstep -
and, no, they don’t really live that long, so you better let them go.
Replace their silence with the gored up glory of a hallowed hallelujah.