2009-06-12 - 8:28 a.m.
as soon as a luna moth is hatched, it begins to die a slow death. they wind down like clockwork along the side of the trail, one and then another, and another.
these things are just so sad to me. such a sad way to start the morning.
what leaf, this time of year, is so pale,
the pale of leaves when they’ve lost just
enough green to become the green that means
loss and more loss, approaching? Give up
the flesh enough times, and whatever is lost
gets forgotten: that was the thought that I
woke to, those words in my head. I rose,
I did not dress, I left no particular body
sleeping and, stepping into the hour, I saw
you, strange sign, at once transparent and
impossible to entirely see through. and how
still: the still of being unmoved, and then
the still of no longer being able to be