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| | Like a Moth To a Flame, by Christopher Ketcham |
 | | From the murmurous, rain-stunned forest, big fl moths and white and orange moths are beating on the window screens, scratching like dogs, hungry for the 20 candles that light the cabin. |
 | | Perhaps cocoons were burst in the lancets of rain; or the hot wet week past has raised them to a fever of fornication. |
 | | They make the same swoops as eagles dropping down thermals in canyons, round and round the light, but they lose their composure fast, they grow more frenzied, more jealous, more insatiable with every pass, until at last they draw too close to the fire. |
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