time like amber glass fluid in motion

a pre-historic insect
trapped in glass;

the vague wings beat
against the fresh tears of pine

only to bring death deeper,
twine

the moth and the resin
the now and the found;

the chunk of what used to be
sunlight and trees

and birdsong so long
ago that it almost echoes

the first light
falling, slowly, to dusk.

 

 

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