On the sidewalk behind the middle school at dusk, 
flashlight pointed down in the dark, spade in hand, 
standing before the overgrown field, I remembered 

the guilt of loving a boy. Of burying that love, 
the future’s burden. That night I needed to know 
if I’d once loved and only learned not to, or if I never 

loved at all. The first step into the field was accompanied 
with a puff of white star-like moths in my circle of light. 
I stopped. How could I risk crushing something so delicate?

M.J. Young is a writer and MFA student at Florida International University. His poetry can be found or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, Vagabond City Lit, One Art, and elsewhere. In his free time he enjoys listening to Philip Glass and exploring bookstores. He can be found on Instagram @mjyoungwrites.