The Gypsy Moth hunts by looking
For a home, invisible code seeking a new beginning,
Relentlessly. I wonder into my own
Destination. Is it like Don Juan says a period on a page, or at a grocery store as I reach.
Of course the library, or
Smiling at an irony I go down.
Looking up I remember the biblical figures in the clouds.
The kiss on my cheek by an invisible:
Momentary hope.
Where did my wife go, my great Chessie.
What chrysalis did they become, doubts haunt me.
I live in expectation.
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