Moth

Moth
Tucked up in grey-brown turban
Rainy night folded beneath its wings,

If butterflies are jewels of the day
Moths are scarves wound ‘round Venus’ hair
Draped over the Magellanic Clouds
when she’s not going out,

If butterflies love to visit sunny meadows
Then moths coat the sides
of the intergalactic covered bridges like wagon dust
And ripple in the solar wind.