Moth to the porch light
with me the sunset over
last summer's sting
and stains from the grass
dead this year, sallow
patch of memory receding
but it's better than mud.
Reseed. Maybe
next year.
I need some time alone
but she wasn't
no moth, no dust, just bite
and blood and gone.
Buzz pause smack
too late and forever
just-in-case swatting at
what's not there
every night since.
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