Self Portrait as a Moth

                                   I am drawn to melancholic things:

                                   Moon and night and artificial light,

                                   Flying my way though it doesn’t always feel right,

                                   Seeing clearly in the night.

                                   I am a papery thing that hides a heart

                                   of ink, beating so badly it bursts through my eyes.

                                   Let me cling to the mesh of

                                   your door screen, and soak in your inner

                                   workings, for I am small and know my place- to

                                    hear of harrowing trials or the daily mundane

                                    is enough to put contentment on my face.

                                    Yes, I am a watcher.

                                    Always have been, always will be,

                                    A fuzzy little ghost in an old oak tree

                                    Covert, close yet oh, so free!