In a soft pool of my table light
Lay a moth of light green wing
Rising like a leaf come to life
In forest floor, part of decolam
Of computer table, long dead
Vitreous and smooth as a sky
Free of stars. irregular shapes
Fractals we are of everywhere.
She is a fractal , a winged moth
Of another fractal, world's wings
Light green, irregular like words,
Of a world that gets up and goes
From a vitreous sky, free of stars.
She is now here, now not there.
Her wings are a female gender,
Birth's softness on way to death
A flowing amoeba to all our sides
Like where are all born and die,
A smell like flower in the gutter
A touch silky as night's half light,
A breakaway from our own life.