A moth at Mass, big as a bat
flitted past the host.
Before that a cat
came in.
You can’t do that,
I said.
It was hot that day
in the world,
but cool as usual
here in the cloister.
A moth at Mass, big as a bat
flitted past the host.
Before that a cat
came in.
You can’t do that,
I said.
It was hot that day
in the world,
but cool as usual
here in the cloister.
Would that women were so
open with their readiness, crying
“Come get me” in the night —
“Come get me” — while the
neighbors grumble, “What
is that?” and shut their windows
against the excess of need.
A mild but festive ambush
fills the air with you and me
that confounding fear of descent –
is a lovely flaw,
a flaw for the sake of the chick.