convocation of moths

�convocation of moths


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
somebody's gilmore, 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.