a moth has swiped a thought right in front of my face
a flicker and gone pure cheek the wing brush lingering

my eyes scan the walls for pulsing fool’s silver
smudges on the ceiling the ghost of a white shoulder

bumblebees prey on me bungling their route
they’re bewildered by a new disease        I duck

I’m not fretting I’ve remembered I let it recede
a memory like a fly flying backwards as they do in defence

best kept spotless the air in the house they belong outside
that bluebottle knows trying to bang through hard nothing



Regina Weinert lives in Sheffield. She has had a university career in language and linguistics. Her poems are also published by Magma, The North, Pennine Platform, Poetry Salzburg Review, Stand, Under the Radar and Wild Court.