lepidoptera raze you rest on a strip of cotton and polyester, the closest colour you could find to your own. the better to conceal the scales that line your membraneous wings. but i see you. i set you down in the bathroom. a sink i tower over is a mountain to you. you stand at its summit and i watch your antennae move. you take one step to the right. then two. assessing and reassessing. you'll never know the pivot rod or the shutoff valve. you'll never touch the drain. you study the edge of the basin. you don't leap. you don't fly. you move back the way you came and weigh your options. when i leave you, you're climbing up the wall. the next time we meet, you'll be hiding behind the mirror, a black and green friend drawn not to the light but to the question of what to do with the days you have left. a minute must be a year in your mind. some minutes have carried the same weight in mine. 211228 what's it to you? who go blather from