Dim lamplight flames, where night moths meet,
Gathering in shadows, where their wings so
beat,
Falling flighty dustings, upon the powdered
beams,
Wings, legs, antennas, stitched by invisible
seams,
Their bodies crashing, burnt, torn & so
hotly singed,
Wings, legs, antennas, melt & become
unhinged.
Street-lamps lure, the flitting black &
old bats to dip,
Where insects gather & bend, toward night
dew to sip,
Those of leathered wing, deep, black & so
very dark,
Caressing sanity slowly, behind the gnarled
oak bark,
Dawn cracks, embracing lamp & sunlight,
striking blind,
Sunrise creeping softly, leaving night´s
landmines behind.
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