full moon just expired,
one more circle becoming history.

a huge moth
courts the lantern next to me,
in love with the unknown,
and the lantern pins the moth’s living shadow
against the pages of the book in my hand.

under the moth’s gray fluttering shade
words scream,
brought to life by the dance of night’s butterfly,
ghostly figments of some pitch serialism –
threads pulled out with an apparent accidentalism
from the page’s canvas with a blunt crochet hook.

meanings melt all-together
while the book becomes the moth,
fluttering its pages under the light of my “why” –
and greedy
my eyes finish devouring
about the same time that the moth’s wings
inert
close.

the lantern remains alive though –
there’s always room for another moth

© Liliana Negoi

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