in my experience, fireworks are simply that until they’re not.
colors are vibrant until they’re violent, and the fuse is lit in
your throat.
pin sized fires alight themselves harmoniously against
your skin and water is nothing but gasoline.
putting out fires means letting them scorch and melt your flesh
and, without assistance, it rebuilds itself
a fraction of its beauty intact.
to avoid this you must avoid fireworks
and anything else hot, or bright, or fun,
or loud.
sink your head beneath the surface of any water you find
and sit alone in the moor
counting clouds until you know the sky like an
old friend who pats your hair and
whispers to you,
light and chiffon.
when the whist fades into thunder
cracking and searing flames lick your brain
drenching it in burns
use what’s left to recollect the number of clouds
tell yourself again and again
and again once more
that you were always able to see them,
dark gray against the night
even in july.