Ignoring plaques honoring the death of boys,
we watch great moths of summer, green Luna,
brown and yellow Imperial, air fluttering.
Straight streams of light illuminate the cross–
bright, its angles huge in shadow. The night is full
of tree frogs who voice their guttural lullabies.
And bats, black predators who dive to feed
as we now witness the death of wings.
The air is full of looming shadows, the lighted cross,
backdrop to the swoop and climb of bats and moths.