A tramp, a gentleman, a poet, a dreamer, a lonely fellow, always hopeful of romance and adventure, James H Duncan is a New York native, part-time Taoist, and the editor of Hobo Camp Review. A frequent haunt of all-night diners, used book shops, dive bars, and train station platforms, his nocturnal transmissions of poetry and fiction have found homes in Apt, Plainsongs, Red Fez, Reed Magazine, The Homestead Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, and The Battered Suitcase, among other publications. Visit his blog.
Final fireflies
By James H Duncan
cold coming on strong in August wondering vainly ’bout the tides
of life and how the lows seem low until the ocean empties out
and the highs are maybe not so high as we thought, the mountains
not peaking just where we suspected, the clouds thinner, the sun
dimming at the end of the day drowsy as fall comes on strong
bringing the autumn doldrums and magic lightning act of love, if only
in passing, electric ions like final fireflies holding desperate to the fields
before the harvest, holding on to the dreams of yesterday before Death,
before the fear set in, fear that we have been waiting all our lives for
one final flight, but that we are not ready; no, we are not ready at all
I loved your biography and everything about this poem. The fluid stream of thought is like a warm current that carries you along to the conclusion…which is brilliant. Thank you for the lyricism and poignancy with which you write!