The Moon Asks No Questions Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

Single-mindedly the ants march
in a solo line.
Each other's perfect replicas
they follow the scent to their own end.

It leads them to the carcass
of what was a woman whose spirits
departed in search of another vessel
to enfold them.

Over the decaying flesh
flies buzz a Harry James tune.
There's music even in death.
Bald vultures peck and stitch

Edgar Alan Poe stanzas
and instead of reading I watch inspiration
in crooked beaks and moons
peeking from the lake

mouthing silent ripples
turning the ancient mother into daughter,
a modern sailor, an unsullied Muse,
hauling her asylum port to port.