Fire One Morning

A Poem, gently reworked from 5 years ago

Was it for nothing that the blueberries
     In the backyard bed,
          Their fruit all consumed,
     The year’s growth hardened,
          Caught fire one morning?

I took off my shoes, there in the kitchen,
     Beholding them aflame through the window.

Is this newfound bioluminescence?
     Can a shrub throb with photons
          Like neon waves of plankton,
     A lampshade jelly, or dragonfish lure,
          Alive with luciferin?
            
Like a night-watch awoken by foxfire,
     My eyes reckon with unsought brightness
      
All life must glow, as dewdrops on a fern,
     The shimmer of scales
          On a fritillary wing,
     The Mucosal sheen 
          Of a passing slug.
            
Even the paper-skin of the deceased
     Can seem translucent for a moment.

So why might a blueberry bush not burn
     Yet be unconsumed?
          Perhaps my squinting
     At this light-charged world
          Is only natural—

That only a dullness of soul blinds me
     To joy that sparkles through gray winter day,
          That this crimson gift
     Fired by first frost
          Is for my refining.

(l) Vaccinium corymbosum fall foliage; (r) same photo at maximum contrast.