In the Amazon there's a moth
who lives by drinking the night-tears
of sleeping birds.
By day she's folded asleep
deep in green minarets where purple frogs
sweat pearls of poison.
If she dreams, it's only by accident.
At dawn the birds fly up, eyes
opened by song, tears given
without intent or knowledge
as I give mine, silver life
to the mouths of memories.
March, 2024
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 10:15 AM UTC
In the Amazon there's a moth
who lives by drinking the night-tears
of sleeping birds.
By day she's folded asleep
deep in green minarets where purple frogs
sweat pearls of poison.
If she dreams, it's only by accident.
At dawn the birds fly up, eyes
opened by song, tears given
without intent or knowledge
as I give mine, silver life
to the mouths of memories.
March, 2024
Gorgone macarea is the moth referred to here, one of several species of Lepidoptera who practise lacrophagy for survival. This poem is written in the 55 form{55 words used)
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