Zhuang Zhou Dreamt That He Was Me

A fleet of giant moths landed on a hillside forest.
They hummed like a droning cello.
They sucked out the insides of the trees, then left.
The forest collapsed, as if fainting.

Made no sound.

Planes swarmed inside the clouds.
It was mating season, and near a lake,
which is why there were so many of them.

About abi nighthill

Abi has a BA in Poetry from Columbia College Chicago.
This entry was posted in Not to Claw the Bark of Trees, Poetry and Nonfiction. Bookmark the permalink.

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