Night flower blossoming
Beneath the summer sky
Petal parasols unfurling
Throughout June and July

She was born under the moon
Nocturnal butterfly
Pollinated by pale moths
To live one day then die

Moonflower blooms in warmth
Her short season’s end nigh
Shriveling once the frost sets in
And conceding to the ice

Moonblossom rich in scent
A true pleasure to stand by
Her short-lived sweet fragrance
Would all surely vivify

Our home is burning.
Moths and lilies are breaking the woodwork.
They are fluttering closer to our fumbling feet.
Your grandmother’s wallpaper has never looked so beautiful.

I used to spend my nights in the silence between the sofa cushions,
Trying to organize the history of anarchism,
Wondering why the persimmons had been bitter to us,
And why you could not distinguish stones from bread.

On the day God decided to forsake virgins,
I went off to the market, closing the door behind me softly.
Our foundation disappeared behind me.
Somewhere, I believe, you are still dancing.

sometimes I want to scream,
to open my throat and let raw, audial emotion pour out of my mouth

in unlikely and inappropriate places:

I want to be louder than the grate of iron against iron on the metro,
than the sharp whine of subway against tracks
than the hum of electricity
and the noise that makes up this city
and the noise that makes up the world.
I want to be louder than the noises that reverberate from other people's lives,
and louder than bureaucracy,
and louder than the din of policies and senseless complaints.

but then I think about the summer lockdown,
the humidity of western Tennessee,
the chorus of cicadas in the forests,
devoid of human noise and interaction.

I think about the luna moth I found on my doorstep one morning,
Sheltered from sun, cicada, and wasp.
They stand for luck, you know, and all good fortune.

They don't have mouths.

The Moon is home to those lost in the night
We are drawn to her like moths
In the glow of her pale light
The world feels soft
And welcoming
Suddenly I understand
Details that daylight cannot expose
Only Moonlight.

“so, did you say it?”

“what?”

“you know what.”

“......”

“the butterflies in my stomach; they flutter when i attempt to.”

“so don’t let them turn into moths. they’d only swarm and rattle more cages.”

i wandered in the forest, as so many hopeless do
despite the warnings of the wise
and found myself tracing the world
fingers ghosting over leaves and foxglove blossoms
as the woods grew dark around me
and the moon seemed to shy away from my path

when i stood still to search for it, what i found instead was her
standing tall enough to choke the light
and yet almost like a flame
bloodied flowers growing from her chest and covering her ribs
and antlers stretching from her amber hair

"i am", she spoke, "the patron of dreams just barely forgotten
the echo of a memory straying further away
the more you strive to keep it close"

a flutter between us in the silence
a moth
landing on her skin
and attempting to draw blood
where it sat, a new flower spread
swallowing it whole

my head felt heavy as i swayed
slick sickening warmth coating my teeth
i fell to my knees and as i did
my eyes met the leaves and dirt below
but where before there had been sticks and wood
i saw bones littering the earth

"it is a shame", she said
over the sound of the forest stirring
twisting with displeasure at my discovery
"you were as beautiful as you were lost"

This night I got lost
In a field of lilies
Some white and broad
Some red and fine
Both are for death
One for mourning
One for killing
And as the moon's light slowly fades
As the morning sun rises
And red becomes pink
Becomes yellow
Becomes blue
I feel the last remaining moth land on my arm
There is a peace in knowing it wont last much longer
And neither will I

The only person
I wanted to see today
Isn't even here
So I'll just sit
Do my work
Let the minutes
Pass like moths
Fluttering to the light