Mothic (Poetry)

Sleepless in the humid night
listening to the gentle bump
of moths against the window glass

I guess some perfume in the room
draws one through the open crack
it flutters dizzy overhead
                        then plops exhausted on my bed

I gaze unmoving at those wings
that rest so lightly on my sheet
like silver moon-sails drifting dust

The curtains blow — a gust of air
the insect quivers at the kiss
as though in some rare state of bliss

Both entranced — the moment shared
and wonder lengthened to a doze
a flicker — heavy eyelids close ...

Waking in the dawn’s thin light
my uninvited guest now flown
such dreams significant somehow