"Like invisible
Pallbearers," moths have carried
Off carpets of memories,
Like a winged bucket brigade
Of muted colors and dust.
This is true for all of us,
Children, grown-ups, elderly.
We don’t see them lay their eggs.
We rarely note their passing.
Without words, we’d not have them.
My toddler daughter caught moths
Half-bare, gold-skinned summer nights,
Caught them straight out of the air.
Victories these words
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