Absence Makes the Heart

I would like to forget you
then remember – a moth goes up through the concert
battered by music, a little strip of paper
the confetti falls and it must think that this
is where all the other moths have been! Why
are they all so flattened out? Why are they off
in the other direction, toward the tangled bed of people
toward the crowd down there
with the nectary center of their palms
raised up like flowers? Can’t they see that human hands
are not for landing? Human hands
are for clenching and unclenching around newness
until newness is crushed
until the insides and outsides of a thing
are the same

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