Moths

Moths


"To the Flame," I chant.


Your fire burning high in the field,
wood bend upon stick
and log upon branch,
as your light rivalled the sky
and cavaliered smoke and fume.


I never understood why you built it as high as you did.


The only thing bright in the night.
It called out to the moths you feared so much.
The light calling- smoke dispelling.


You would keep them at a distance with your fumes
as you danced in the heat of your flames.


Of the one insect you could of feared I never understood the moth.


Maybe it was the dart quick gestures
the floating brown and white of the wings
like tiny pigeon angels of the invertebrate world
coming out only in night
seeking each tiny speck of Sun
drawn closer to some inner glow.


They'd reduce you.
Something I never could understand;
the Mighty Sun- the Lion of Oz in you.


On the edge,
I'm catching spark off you
and lighting a glint in my eye.


Reflections of wanting it all.


Eyes so wide
the black fog of fire fills them
foaming tears 
to keep sight in inferno so intense.


But your bonfire is forever dear.


I will stand outside the veil of smog one moment
I have to catch my breath.


I guess like the moth 
I'll never know why you fear them.


Keeping us at a distance.


-Matthew Koutzun