Ode To Mugwort

The first time I slept with you

in a Colorado Commune

you showed me how I had been sneaking around

neighborhoods in broad daylight

stealing light bulbs from people’s houses.

 

On the bus home, 

in a snow storm that almost didn’t let us go

you offered me a moth with pink wings.

 

I placed one wing on my tongue and gave you the other.

Through a small gap in the window we flew.

The air tasted like candy,

we could go anywhere now.  

 

We flew towards the light we had always wanted,

but were too afraid of,

our small bodies fluttering.

 

We flew all night, eventually stopping to rest

on a window screen with a bedside lamp on.

I rested my head on your winged shoulder

and fell asleep.