White Street Lights

My feathered antenna weave in twilight currents
as I fly above indigo tree tops.
Moonlight steers me clear of familiar places,
but there are friends along the way.
When I see the black river I know to follow it to her.
For along its gray banks is my favorite friend,
and spotting her, I alight upon her petals.

I push inside her welcoming folds
to that ambrosia--the reason for it all.
When I am all the way inside her, I plunge
my proboscis into her nectar and drink,
drink, drink. My body quivers at the taste of her.

When there is nothing left, I back out,
her mark sprinkled across my back.
I open my scaled wings and drop--
catching the wind, ready to sail forth awhile,
until sleep catches me.

I look up to the moon for my bearings.
I spot it, a brilliant shine I can see from--
It’s close.

I spent my whole life looking to the moon,
flying at it every night,
but never did I think I would reach it.

I want to land on its surface, stretch my wings wide,
and let everyone know that of all the stories of all the moths
trying to reach it, I was the only one who could.

I hug the black river as I soar through the wind.
It approaches, above, and I curve to meet it.
I rise, pump my wings higher and higher,
flying straight up under it, I pass another moth.
He struggles to go any higher and drops back down
exhausted.

Having no such struggle myself, I leap through the air, faster and harder,
the white brilliance is all I see. It radiates heat, welcomes me.
Closer and closer I flap, until it blinds me. But I feel the heat
on my face and know I fly true.

A sharp crash
halts,
ricochets me
and I fall,
tumbling down .

I can't catch the wind
in my wings, I don't know up
or down anymore, I open my
wings wide to stop the fall
and it sends me into a
dive.

I see the brilliant moon on my side, and twist to face it.
I pump my wings to climb.
I feel the heat on my compound eyes.

Another crash
sends me tumbling down.
My wings don’t work right, and I pump them
to climb, but it takes all my energy just to remain aloft.

Another moth flies towards me, fresh, powerful,
as moon-drunk as I was. I try to warn him, to turn back, there is
an impenetrable barrier, it’s a trick--
but I haven’t the strength,
and the only sound that comes
is my tattered wings passing through
the air on my way down.