When we talk about paralax, darling

Sorrow or laughter
comes from a glass jar
swelled with fire bugs
prisoners
of fancy.

If you can't tell which is which,
in all that jarred
fire,
we are looking at the same God-
Damned sky
swelled with jarred fire:
You, fingers furling full of grass,
dirt, or brine-caked sand, staring up,
and me,
atop, watching the fire
swelled in your eyes
prisoners
of fancy.