In Madagascar there are moths that sip
tears from sleeping birds. How hushed the wing;
how light the feet; and deft the barbeled tip,
latching the lid! The sleeper feels no sting:
saliva numbs the nerves. A virus goes
from host to host, and when it multiplies
the bird will die. No field researcher knows
its course, which I have glimpsed in Gaia’s eyes.
Goddess, you have drunk too many tears,
and I shall worship you no more. Your drug
ceases to numb my hopes or soothe my fears
that something else exists beyond your bug
and bird-the Lord all beings dimly seek
incarnates in your realm of claw and beak.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Breaking the Mind
Philosopher James K. A. Smith suffered through a period of profound depression. He found solace and insight…
The Sudden Death of the African Church
Total civilizational collapse is unusual. In the West, continuity exists between the Roman past and our contemporary…
Judaism Outside History
Jews familiar with Franz Rosenzweig (1886–1929) probably know him first as a hero, only then as a…
