White Biocentrism

In our daydreaming backyard night-winged stars
bug lightning-thick air or slug in jars;
my brother and I run and grab and hand-snatch a few,
stand and stare, poke and compare and kill one or two.

Before retiring inside, the cool captives are released--
freedom's glow sparklers dark forest with winking heat:
after each blink we feel real fire in a fullmoon-like blaze;
sigh-inspirers twinkle higher and higher--we can't look away.