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The Moth

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The fingers of my right hand are stained, smudged by the smeared scales of rumpled wings. A half-crushed moth quivers in my left palm. It will not outlive my regret for a startled swat undeserved. I consider: fallen sparrows wilted lilies crushed moths. Sacred beauties all. Fragile all. Too fleeting to hold for long. I… The post The Moth appeared first on VoegelinView.

The fingers of my right hand are stained, smudged by the smeared scales of rumpled wings. A half-crushed moth quivers in my left palm. It will not outlive my regret for a startled swat undeserved. I consider: fallen sparrows wilted lilies crushed moths. Sacred beauties all. Fragile all. Too fleeting to hold for long. I…

The post The Moth appeared first on VoegelinView.

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