To A Moth In Mexico
The party dwindled, trickled, and last to leave
I walked to the top of a hillside gazebo alone.
Crickets, and the lower half of a moon aglow.
Waves crested down below, spilling on rocks
that heard them before the first ear on a head.
And a moth thought to fling itself on lamplight.
I watched it circle and flit. Drawn to anything
other than the night, I suppose. I wondered:
Is it the first time you have done this, Moth?
Do you find it disappointing that this Being...
this last resort of hope or promise of reward
proves in the end to be nothing more than
darkness illuminated? First night in the world?
-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2014 --