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.