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 Of Moth

Moth Reflection

What bids the moth to breathe?
To creep the air on wings morose
And my computer screen?

What strange attraction
it feels with fluorescence,
addicted to the admiration of an old man’s clothes.

Under sore eyes it appears as a butterfly dipped in dust.
Misfortune’s favorite friend
tucked into a laptop case.

Nature’s perfect pretender
is black and gray.

And counts the days
until the good light shines.