preservation

In that former innocence
a second sun bloomed
in my heart, and I 
tucked dreams
and hopes

within my small fist
a moth within-
I held it 
tense, 
in careful regard.

Sometimes
I would tear, slightly
a ghostly wing
having 
no space 
in a hand to 
move:

I shook or would
startle.

And so I began
when it was night 
and I could hear the 
urgency silenced
day-to-day

to still squirrel away
each fold of brain, the
tender stomach
delicate bones of a toe/
all beneath my pillow
where I would remember 
whenever 
I could rest

and today, there 
I hold my hand 
in sleep, reaching 
feeling
something 
alive 

in my hands.