The winged moth

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.

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