[A poem written in memory of my son]


Sometime in the night
the luna moth
attached himself to my screen door
with a grip of filmy steel.
Now he persists, with his wide feathery masculine antennae
in riding the door as it rushes him back and forth–
as if he had grown there.
The subtlety of his colors undermined
by his persistence.

The fireflies crowd the sky.
In a month the world will miss them
but tonight they seem endless.

And that baby, who seemed endless
destined someday to mourn me
instead turned evanescent
and evaporated, on this day
more years ago than I can remember.
In his newborn bed
he seemed steel mesh.
Soon he grew luna moth wings
and went to live with fireflies

where I see him tonight.


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