Firefly

I watched your light flicker
on and off all day,
there on the stairwell,
uncertain if my cat had collected you
or if you were victim to the cruelty
of this human world –
perhaps my own,
and knowing there was nothing I could do,
I stepped over you, again and again,
each time reminded of the news,
“This is the last generation of the firefly.”

And I saw, too, the northern white rhino had died,
but I didn’t know her,
and it sadly seems my capacity to care for things
was in my knowing,
or maybe if the rhino had shone in the dark
we would have fought to save her,
as there is something sacred to lights shining
down dark paths the way you do.

yet we chose the mundane,
and everywhere I look, it seems,
I see only the last of things
and try to move on and take the little steps I can,
but just now I saw your light no longer flickering
and mine, I think might well be fading,
or is there something still that shines within?