We hammered tent pegs
into the ground and crawled
inside a sleeping bag beside

a buzzing lamp, then zipped
the moths away, all except
the ones crawling at the tip

of tongue, our what-are-we-
when-we-wake-up– your
finger to my mouth to shush

my brain, our lips wingtips
fluttering, fluttering, fluttering.

(originally published in Agony Opera, Summer 2021)