Whisper of the Moths by Grant Tarbard

                                            Rust beneath grey, the hour of black and white,
                                            Within a moth’s fluttering drone there lies
                                            Two blue balloons and an unstrung box kite
                                            Keeping afloat a nightmare, used as spies
                                            On an inert town. The moths exchange quick
                                            Messages in a sighing language of
                                            The dead and explode, a conjurer's trick
                                            Settling with the white feathers of a dove.
                                            Setting under the last sun, moths baptise
                                            Murder on a rock with a strange pallor.
                                            A stone of crows with a magpie disguise
                                            Hoarding milk bottle tops, silver colour,
                                            Pecking holes in a map drawn by the last
                                            Surveyor in the dead hand of the past.

Grant Tarbard has worked as a journalist, a contributor to magazines, an editor, a reviewer, and an interviewer. He is now the editor of The Screech Owl and co-founder of Resurgant Press with Bethany W. Pope.

The thing that gives hims a sensation of floating, other than anaesthetic or alcohol, is a mindfulness technique. You concentrate on the branches of a tree and your body sways with them. It makes him calm and gives a floaty feeling.

ArtPriscilla Boatwright is an illustrator and writer working in San Antonio. She is fascinated with myth, magic, and the connections between cultural identity and art. Priscilla received her BFA in illustration at the Rhode Island School of Design. See more of her artwork at http://cargocollective.com/boatart.

Back to Issue 5: Things that Float

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