the moths that cry dust

i can feel the plants growing beneath my spine.  they need water.  but i am caught on the roof of this house, glued to the senseless beauty of the sky.  my favorite color is twilight.  the only ones who know i am here are the crows, and they aren't telling anybody.  i wonder when i will have the patience to curl myself about this love thing, like i am a vine, growing up a telephone pole, waiting for the snow.