White moths without eyes
absent mouths, single winged
remnants
of combusted life
thermal motion
relieved of flame.
You weave wild,
lifted by swirling air
that catches you in its
confused grip, heat mixed
with cold. You rise and
you fall and you fall
and you land, decorating
my sleeve and my thigh as
I extend my fingers toward
the warm licks
roaring above your
steaming corpse.
I cry tears that purge your
smoke and you wander
away carried by a slow
southeasterly wind.
-Josephine Pino
Josephine is a biologist educator who has recently discovered that poetry, teaching and science not only play well together, they help each other thrive. She has published in El Portal, Cathexis NW, Curating Alexandria, Raw Art Review, and Tiny Seed Literary Journal.