Lepidoptera (October) by Aaron BlairOctober is like the fat brown moth
launching itself against my window,
little orange flecks lending color to its wings.
If I let it in, it might crawl into my mouth.
I might choke on it, might swallow it
and all its fluttering and frantic implications.
Are you here to bare the trees, yet, October?
Have you come to steal away the leaves with
your million hungry mouths, your insect shredding?
You search the night for me, you fly the dark,
and in some far off land, you see a white house;
yellow light spilling, glittering eyes in a bleached skull.
In October, I become a tree. My branches bend
in resignation. I let go of my clothes, my bright reds
and coppers. My naked body beckons to the swarms.
10/01/2005 Author's Note: For Grace Bedwell. Wherever she may be.
Posted on 10/02/2005 Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
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