Angles

The yellow flowers sit in the grass
the sun sets and I lay upon the ground covered in a hand nit quilt
the lights pop up and they big to move and swish
"Grandmother?"
I say and watch the lights move all about
they are the angles I know it I can tell
this is the truth that he does not want us to know
that these firefly's or lighting bugs
are those loved ones gone
they truly are...
the angles.