Moth Days

With you, with the night, I lie
Mesmerised: watching a lone moth
Float to the surface of the dark
And stick like a dusty lilypad
To the window-partition.
Slowly rising, like the sun
Breaching horizons;
Pressed against the glass,
Wings fluttering like eyelashes.

I thought we were hidden.
In a bed of escapism,
Pinning our reflections on the sky
With finger-painted smiles
And offering Judas kisses to the moon
While it scowled down like an ancient Mass.

That we had imagined new selves
Hiding in a building’s forgotten pocket
And toying with separatism,
Our slice of concrete hive
As distant as blue-remembered hills;
We had declared a new periphery.

But the world continues, endlessly
Slipping axis-revolutions
To try and flush us out.
The room swells, spot-lit.
Light thickens around us like amber.
The hanging bulb
Shining like an anglerfish lure;
A glass ball of night-sun
God, reflecting in our eyes.

The moth fizzes, hones, dilates,
Eclipsing our bodies
With a shadow like an omen.
And then, gleefully, he swings
Like a wrecking ball hitting the glass.
A clanging thorax alarm clock.
An exoskeleton belly flop.
An incessant, pounding pendulum.

The stars begin to expire.
A glittering dark, a mansion of lights
Slowly extinguished, room by room
As the morning rounds towards us;
The moon tarnishing until soon
It is little more than a dull, silver coin
Rusting into an awakening sky.

But I can close the shutters.
Push back the dawn.
So we lay in the black day
Sleepless like addicts,
Burying ourselves
Further into the sheets,
Our helium words sagging
Like tired, withering balloons.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s