Moon Moth
I made my home
on a broken world
that I found in the space
between breaths,
golden dark as your eyes
long ago
fireflies, quenched moons
yellow with light in
the river mist.
Time crawled out
on my veins
like an inchworm and hung,
a floating cocoon
spun from brown autumn's dust.
One dream
in a decade kept a blind sun's vigil
on the soft shape within, and
time's opalescent shell
pledged a constancy malleable
to the formless thing
growing her wings.
All this while
I wandered as a wind
in the tree of bound hours,
up and down, warm
in your scent of basil and chai
til the years at last
became harder
than miles
til the earth became still
till the flowers sighed,
waiting for time
to fall or fly.
~February 2020
posted for earthweal's challenge
Brendan asks us to look at time, the natural world, and many other things this week, out of which I chose : "What happened to time? Spin the clockfaces crazily and get a feel for a present both timesick and solastalgic."
Images: Moth Wing ©Amelia Fletcher Fair Use
The Lonely Cedar, 1907 ©Tivadar Koszta Csontvary Public Domain
