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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We caught it in a jar~ one pulse of gold in the dark, a tiny lantern swinging between our cupped hands. Dad said make a wish," but the glass was already fogging, its slow, suffocated glow dulling to ember. We unscrewed the lid at dawn, found only the husk of light— wings like charred paper, a silence where the buzzing had been. Now when the night thickens, I leave the jars empty. Some things are not meant to be kept.
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