Moths in the shape of one moth
hang from the eaves of the porch.
They break pattern at night
then return by day to stay in sight.
The season turns soft late this year,
noticeable only in the darkening
of the dune grasses and bay water.
Pale moon peaks through woolen skeins.
Inside we ignore the pain and failings.
We make each day work as close
as we can to the one before, yet each
ends with fewer words and less breath.
The inner pain burns to ash the recent past.
Yesterday's meals with local news blur to fog.
In the midst of these doldrums, suddenly a passion
fires to a vivid lucid state that lights this day.
A laughing moment of remembrance kept
before falling back to earth a soft dull gray.
Outside the multi-moth figure waivers
as the light shivers and life begins to fade.
© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
Posted for OpenLinkNight @ dVersePoets on 10/18/2011