Moth
Shivering its wings the sulphur yellow moth
charges up and down the pane.
Its legs are lines that brace and bend
just enough to be seen,
quick as thought - no feet
no stabilizers.
The attack is in time with a blue grass frenzy,
the old John Henry song, Springsteen's version.
The moth wants the music as much as the light,
legs wings thorax antennae - it's dancing – dancing.
The eyes are a limousine's black windows.
I don't want it to come in
it'll only break itself on something.
Let it live out the summer at least
flying through the city
dancing to different music every night
then when it dies it'll have something
to take with it
like a merchant
with bales of exquisite fabric,
heading west on the silk road.
Page(s) 32
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