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On the tips of evergreen peaks
a ring of pink traces the twilight skyline.
Headlights, lampposts, and firecrackers in tin cans
illumine the asphalt parking lot below.

Three children sit on a blanket-coated car hood.
​They push one another on and off until Dad
makes an end of “this silliness.” They jump when the first
explosion of blue, white, and red ignites the horizon.

After pointed fingers and bleating cries, the smallest girl
Mom lifts off the ground and atop her shoulders.
Baby holds her breath while white streamers rise
and rise ‘til the explosion and disintegration.

“How high can they go?” one child asks. Instinctively he knows
the battle is with gravity. “The colors are so bright!”
another says, perhaps perceiving that darkness
is the canvas against which colors best arise.

When they grow old, may they remember this moment
and the clarity of colors from their wide, reflective eyes.
When their hands hold a wheel, or make a weld, or raise
​the flag, or touch a wall of names, let them remember.