after an hour
writing under
the soft lamp
the moth –
folded like
a stick –
had stepped
from the sill
to the voile
curtain and
hung there
upright
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
combe end wormhole: the son
net curtain wormhole: ‘at night …’
time wormhole: ‘turning right …’
writing wormhole: ‘when sitting I am just sitting maybe …’
