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Trans Gypsy Moth
The liveliest creature of the summer night,
the gypsy moth, why does it want to
dissolve into a heap of nameless eggs on the bark of an oak?
Does a gypsy moth remember being a cocoon? Or a worm?
And as a worm, feasting on delicious oak leaves,
why does it want to turn into a cocoon?
Does it know it’s the way to gain the freedom of flight?
Does it know it really wants to be a moth and lay
eggs and why?
Does it root fiercely for next year’s swarm of gypsy moths?
Does it hope they will sing the same hymn they’re now
reveling in? The one that gives them a lift in the air,
makes them attack the screen door
and bang on it with the demands for existence?
I remember being an abandoned farm house
in an open field with not even a dirt trail leading to it.
I can also see myself as a logging road in a fall forest,
my hair the color of a gypsy moth.
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PAUL SOHAR ended his higher education with a BA in philosophy and took a day job in a research lab while writing in every genre, publishing thirteen volumes of translations, including "Silver Pirouettes" (TheWriteDeal 2012) and “In Contemporary Tense” (Iniquity Press, 2013).