From Brendan Grady’s “Moths,” in the current issue:

We know the moths circling the porch light,
the dolt among them breaking orbit,
dusty Icarus drawn to his demise.

This isn’t new, but seventeen others
stuck on the wall have turned their wings
against it, like stoics, as if the light isn’t light,

and if they move, it is only a slight flutter,
a twitch of motion, before they still again.

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