*

*

A luna moth emerges

from its rough, camouflaged cocoon

pale green grace, soft night angel

spiral tails, feathered feelers

No mouth.

No

Mouth.

Her cycle: mate, lay eggs, and die

*

Damsel flies, shiny blue, scaly

slim window wings

skim a handful of weeks

Gypsy moths cycle through a year

*

Boulders birth in earth upheavals

Jagged or rounded by weather

Dense consciousness, witness

to passing millennia

one exhale in one thousand years

*

We unshelled humans

spin in between

the slow life of stones

and 24-hour mayflies

We bleed and we heal

scabs and scars mark

skins and hearts

*

Our convoluted brains

seek the Presence behind

this strange mosaic of being

always becoming more

expanding to perceive Itself

in every wing, every breath