Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Memento mori

The moon’s still fat, that radiant
pearl, but a bit lopsided as it wanes.

A pair of moth wings, tattered and
dusting the front porch, but no body.

No Perseids to be seen, and then I
remember: we’re the shooting stars.

1 comment:

Larry said...

Here's hoping for a good, long, and gently arcing trajectory before we fizzle out!