For the moth / Bends no more than the still / Imploring flame. Hart Crane
Brakhage collected tufts of grass, flower petals, dried seeds, dead
moths from porch lamps. He tore off moth wings from the abdomen, antennae
by compound eyes. Remnants pasted on filmstrips, he lined up wings, implored the flight
with green, pressed seeds around torn off petals. He wound dead moths on a reel, projected
light through wings. Pressed leaves in books mark passages. Pressed wings
and torn petals in filmstrips mark light, intricate single flight, muted and green.