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Bonfire At Play


Land mirrors balaclavaed moon tonight, 
The dark blindfolds insects in drunken song, 
And censors bawdy bullfrogs’ ancient rite. 
Our starved eyes protest truant fireflies’ wrong,
As we raise high a flame of bright sarong.

Pixies may dance nude with rioting sparks,
A sleepwalking coyote somewhere barks,
While hot crackles heckle the clouds away.
We thrill to a new June the warm wind marks,
Think of the bonfire of summer at play.

Copyright © Bernard Chan

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