Moth To Flame

Moth To Flame

The hinge of his mind a rusted gate latch
scratched shut as the moon drew his eye.
Hand in hair, the swaying branches push
him from his table to let the wind twist the
empty page. Wax fell -- and is still falling
from the near side of the candle. This one.

This fire that struck the moth, fluttering in.
Window opened, his muse was not long
in the telling -- What we most desire shall
consume us, and the having take us whole.
This he wrote, newly inspired. An unhinged
man, turning vellum o'er the charred wings.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc., 2010