Moth’s Reverie
Outside peeling blue walls, a streetlight
hums hushed and still, steel beams sway,
meditating in the quiet night.
When day’s light finally slips away,
something warm to touch will swallow
the navy summer night, bathing eyelashes
and teeth and homemade split ends in yellow.
Until then, bugs clutter and crash
in the absence, endlessly colliding amidst
crystal dewdrops and petrichor,
their sacred ritual shrouded in mistÂ
like whitecap waves breaking on the shore. Â Â Â Â
They know this is inevitable, ancestral fate
predestined, and they are willing to wait.