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Sunday, June 12, 2016

No Words


No Words


but a luna moth
rests on a beetle-chewed stump
just off the path
like a precisely
placed flag,
a ripple of green,
pulsing.

You can’t exist.
There's no splendor
left in the world.
 
Oh but you do,
oh beauty
you do, 

stretched out soft-leafy sails,
luminous pearls perched 
on each wing.
Your feathery antennae
sift the wind,
twin tails ribboning,
trembling.

You, with no mouth,
you cannot be bothered to eat
or drink, waste no time
on song or taste.

You must be part angel,

made to be beauty, create beauty
be beauty, create beauty
be beauty, create beauty
be beauty, create beauty

or else made for something
even more mysterious
than I
can imagine -
me, with my human sin:

I have
a mouth, luna,

but I have
no words.


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