It starts with the moths
sipping at nectar under the moon
and then the bats
gobbling up the moths
etcha-sketching their way across the sky
snatching at dusty wings
the Great Horned owl
propels its warrior’s cape
while far below
a raccoon
rattles the latch on a rickety gate
off in search of gourds
by dawn
a moth
will find itself
inside the furried stomach of a bat
a shut-eyed rabbit
inside the nest of an owl
the raccoon and swollen gourd
they, too, will become forever united
drawn together by a magnet
they cannot name
the suck and pull
of another midnight harvest
the moon, the stars
an empty ribcage lusting for fullness.