Edge of Freeze
moths flit to rake
a pillaged moon’s embers.
such splintered wings,
threadbare glints in stardust,
it’s hard to see
what keeps them aloft,
swing-dancing so late,
zealous through the night.
some fey alembic, surely,
of trick and tide,
seductive yet monstrous,
obscure of chemistry,
must stoke their brute vigor,
the delirious squander.
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