Moth
Spread mottled wings,
a large hairy head
laid flat upon the window glass
clinging to a force-field.
Up close, eyes as black as bat caves
glimmer from the shine of a flashlight,
but of themselves there is no glitter
nor any gleam of being.
An empty shell driven only by instinct?
Antenna wave, search.
The creature cannot possibly know
what a human face is or
even its own appearance in the glass.
It cannot comprehend the import of what it sees -
can it?
Can I?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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