The sun went down slowly that evening 

leaving oranges on the trees

and a little fire in the sky 

 

The bees were still awake 

drunk on the last white wild indigo 

buzzing around us 

as if they had nowhere else to be 

 

Then the fireflies came 

 

One

then another

then so many

I stopped counting 

 

You said the moon looked close enough 

to pour into a cup

 

So we made tea

 

I don't remember what we talked about

I remember the steam

I remember your hands around the cup 

I remember the stars coming out 

one after another 

until the sky was full 

 

And that high moon 

I kept looking at it 

while you were looking at me

 

Maybe that's what I remember most

 

Not the tea

Not the evening 

 

Just that, for a little while 

the whole night felt

like something we had made 

for ourselves