A little ashen moth under the curtains,
I touched him last night as he lay on his side
and he moved.
This morning he is upright, as if
preparing to fly.
How much have I missed in my lifetime,
as my friends lose their knees and their minds?
Yesterday, an ant was in the shower,
and the magazines had no inserts
to pull out and use as a liferaft, and he died,
and I did not move very fast, he was only an ant.
Only a little moth has died.
My thoughts come to rest
on my treasured windowsills,
those platforms of who I am,
where I keep out the disease,
inside somewhere safe.
As I lay down for the night,
I say a prayer for grace
to grant temperence to my keeper,
to let me stand in the last hour.
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