Moments our porch light observes, and we do not: The American Dagger and White Lichen moths hesitating and fluttering around its dusty glass when I get home from work at 10:33 each night.
Paradox
Diligence and devotion and apathy bleed into grey, like watered-down black ink seeps into pure white paper; all is grey. And empty and full, and falling apart and coming together. All at once.