2nd try

convocation of moths
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in the summer air, rich with mist
and heavy cream, far away, past
the stadium and all the roads
which lead to it, a cloud explodes
in light, for a moment, like pompeii
flashed across the sky, or one note
from a gilmore guitar, or burnt
wings and their stillness. then darkness.
do it again i shout and across it
the stain of a sunset, the same backlit show,
and an evening spent with you
when i was only there
and no where else.

this is a memory for which i can weep -
for i didn't then.

once or twice i was able to survive
within the delusion & i pray
to whatever is inside me that accepts these things
that i can do it again
without you.