Friday, December 26, 2008

Sketches of a Nightjar

Souls disguised as eyes
paint flat the backs of moths

flee unencumbered
into circlular sounds of moon

from deep inside a mix of woods
across brackish perch

a whippoorwill begins to tone
of death and twilight

whir of up-catch
transport to soul departing

silkworms devour
clothes of those still living

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