A droning so loud, I expect
a squadron of bees, see instead
a body hummingbird-bright:
olive-green back, orange-banded
tail—velvet, I’m drawn to touch—
and red translucent wings beating,
beating, beating. Somehow,—
it just isn’t bird enough.
Nose deep in purple petals
(I never see a beak),
so devoted to its drawing
down of nectar, it doesn’t see
me hovering. It’s a moth!
M. stellatarum. Lucky omen
for some. I read that a swarm
was seen crossing the Channel
on D-Day. France, broad fields
of lavender at their backs.
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