In just three short lines, this haiku-like poem sets two kinds of light side by side. The first is the moon, which hangs over everyone at once. The speaker imagines it showing up "in everyone's phone," as if all of us are lifting our cameras to photograph the same glowing thing on a June night. It's a small, familiar scene: people stopping what they're doing to capture something beautiful, and probably sharing it.
Then the last line shifts to "fireflies." There's no comment or explanation, just the word, and that gap does a lot of work. Fireflies are tiny, fleeting, and impossible to hold on a screen. The poem seems to leave us wondering whether the phones catch the moon but miss what's happening closer by.
The mood is quiet and gently wry. The speaker doesn't scold anyone. Instead, there's a mix of connection, in sharing one moon, and a faint wistfulness about how we look at the world through devices.