Timeless Are the Moths That Spin
Light the oil, bring a candle,
watch the shadow show.
Night stuffs our minds
until our hands follow the moths.
See their wings, the brown mottled spans
as they lift up the stars.
Such moths spin our thoughts
this way and that,
turn the heart upon its gimbal.
Their wings flutter in the candle lit stutter.
There are rags to feed them, your cast-offs,
honor those holes in your life.
Moths will sew their silence
within weary ears.
Time to make a simple prayer
for your child-self;
make an invocation,
let it dance between the light and dark.
Whatever IS will hear you,
what IS not
the moths will carry away.
Peace to all who are well-worn
yet harken with a fresh heart.
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