The Crepuscular of Moth Spirits
the children rub fingers
against their wings
for the blur of glitter, magic
they think, the women attract
them with nervous
laughter because they know
they are late again this month,
old men bring them
to their lips with bad breath
and kiss flaxen secrets into them,
take flight into night
air, and in the moon these waxy
insects mate, scattering themselves
in the four directions,
a language lost, about to be reborn,
of how humans have lost their
way in paradise, this green
velvet of land, sky, trees,
a susurrus love song of ashes
fallen backwards
into the heavens, a collision
of stardust dreams and memory,
a silken rapture,
bittersweet evanescence of desire.
Page(s) 62
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