Moth Wings
A tree, fully flushed,
curves under a light peach pink sky.
It expects to slip
into the descending dark,
to watch as a lamp casts
a sun-like hue from a window
within deep salmon sienna brick-
moth wings press against the glass.
The leaves are minute beetling shapes;
the trees exchanges intimacies in the wind-
a whisper in a rustle..
a nod to each other in the Dusky breeze.
Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2021
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