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 I hear it scream
     This is where all the other moths 
have been! Why are you all so flattened out? 
Why are you 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? Their hands are for clenching and 
unclenching around newness, until newness 
is crushed, until the insides and outsides 
of a thing are the same!