by Jimmy O’Hara

I am the moth watching from your window,
hustling the night shift to collect shiny things;
steadily orbiting round and round then clinging
to the porch bulbs and flickering cellar lights,
my ornate fur staring back to lure and warn.

I am the spider weaving myth into the fold;
the furtive mirage never further than ten feet;
the shadow crawling into your mouth by night,
considering you eight different ways as I lunge
elusively past the patterned webs we are casting.

O the shy, the inward; the dear wallflowers;
the owls perched, watching ever peripherally;
those who observe and absorb, quietly merging
with a wider magnitude—we, too, keep this world
turning. Our work tilts the spiral axis of seasons.

We are the nightmare static freezing you still;
the top-hat phantoms grinning from bedposts
and ceiling corners; wicked aces of spades
waiting for your poker faces to drop
so we can move into the surreal.

We are the bioluminescence glowing
from the revived foliage of tomorrow;
that ancient signal the sea turtles trust
with their nests and lives; the blinking
miracles that June fireflies stir ablaze.

We are the silent fungi keeping the trees linked
and in motion; reserved morticians decomposing
your vitals, converting organ to rich nutrient grain;
the lunar undercurrent lighting an entire kingdom
beneath the layered forest soil and her secrets.

Jimmy O’Hara is a gay writer and editor based in Philadelphia. He often focuses his poetry on memory, spirituality, animal rights, natural systems, and social conscience. His works have been published or are forthcoming in Pictura Journal, Eunoia Review, and Literary Veganism. Jimmy is on Instagram @slimjimjam and you can reach him at jpohara4@gmail.com.