Moth’s Reverie

Outside peeling blue walls, a streetlight

hums hushed and still, steel beams sway,

meditating in the quiet night.

When day’s light finally slips away,

something warm to touch will swallow

the navy summer night, bathing eyelashes

and teeth and homemade split ends in yellow.

Until then, bugs clutter and crash

in the absence, endlessly colliding amidst

crystal dewdrops and petrichor,

their sacred ritual shrouded in mist 

like whitecap waves breaking on the shore.        

They know this is inevitable, ancestral fate

predestined, and they are willing to wait.