A moth alights on my thigh while I am in the shower and immediately proceeds to die, turning into ash. Maybe it’s the heat of the water that kills it. Or the force. That night I dream of a family of moths in transverse orientation. My body glows like a celestial object as they descend upon me but I find myself upset, I asked for fireflies. My light dims and I wake up.
Last July I learned to parody recklessness and this April it pays off. Surrendering an illusion and gaining a fecund, verdant energy, a crown of asphodels. I’d sacrifice at this altar again. But we still postpone the promise of spring and summer arrives before I can blink.