Ask no questions of the moth in the candle flame
A lowly larvae at the start,
she crawls and eats from forest floor.
Machinic munching, Darwin’s art,
yet lonely larvae’s yearning starts.
An ache that niggles in her heart,
she weaves a pod — she senses more.
Transformed, no longer bound to earth
Consuming need, to heaven soars.
She pirouettes in heat’s delight
Confusing candle for the moon
Oblivious, wings’ dust ignites
She dips in dying spiraled swoon.
“Hush, child,” sings Luna’s silver light.
“Rest now, be still, rise to me soon.”
Antennae twitch as dreams take flight
Wrapped safe in kindness’ warm cocoon.