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.