Thursday Poem

Miller Moth

Promises were made
that dress of yours
yellow as a Miller moth
batting about the bulb
of a painted porch light
yearning on hanger
to caress a slope of shoulder
ride a swell of hip
bell the well-turned ankle
pleat and dart pooled about
first one foot
then the other
rose to lip
a halting smile of neckline
assumed an aspect
of sail gathered wind
sung vows in the rigging
where I madly batted
drawn, ensnared.

by Dave Hardin
from The Lost Country, Fall 2013