Southern Purple Mint Moth
(Pyrausta laticlavia)
A fingerful of pink sherbet
on the tongue is enough
to surface a minor map
concealed among the Braille
of taste buds. Look to the pink
and yellow static on wild mint
leaves for directions. Every leaf
is experiencing a fizz of childhood
regression – look how the ground
is scraped like a fallen child’s knee
or how the tears are minor lakes
in those few moments of clarity.
The split open classroom
of a fallen wasp nest isn’t a test
or symbol. Remember, this landscape
will join itself together from your regrets.
Saffron
She planted a saffron rose
under my left eye.
Starlings sat on a nearby
thin branch couldn’t cover
it with their plumage.
The saffron rose grew.
Dug its barbed wire stems
into my throat and wrapped
my tongue in thorns.
I wept yellow petals daily,
remember a distant voice
asking if I needed more soil.
Winter Gnats
(Trichocera annulata)
A gathering of ghosts.
The riverbank and glade,
sunlit balls for the males
to strut their moves,
boogie like it’s the apocalypse.
Some poor fool, distracted
by a curious human’s
lighthouse of heat,
follows them to the end.
Others carry on with the lekking,
sashaying in formation
to wed themselves to tomorrow
and not be furled inside
a bird’s sarcophagus stomach.
Dance. Mate. Live. The stragglers
live with the mantra until the moon
is DJing. This is a market for the dead
and the living are bidding for a taste
of the underworld.
Illustration : Suman Mukherjee