Amidst life is death

as in my workshop,

just above the window

a bier for moths, trapped

and drained by the invisible lord of webs.

 

In fact there are two when I think of it

which sometimes I do,

and leave them  as proof of

the scaling down of needs and purpose.

The window plays tricks there,

 

shows them in a beauty parade

a haunting disturbance of light and shade.

For myself, being of proper flesh and blood

there will be no collision like that,

no matrimony of nature's closure,

 

and while I may haunt myself with machines

utilize these cramps and pincers

suspended from walls,

it will be for a greater reason:

that we serve the God of trappings

before final curtains that we never

knew would be drawn before it was too late.