The moth approached me like a blinking eye,
I was having a cigarette in the garage.
The birds squeaked in the far off darkness,
a menacing sound disrupting the night.
I pressed the moth to give me her reasons
for staying up as late as she did--
She continued to blink, and I awaited her answer,
but nothing came.
The birds heckled the darkness and the darkness
heckled back--the chaos persisted but
remained subdued and the neighbors
stayed in bed.
The children, in their warm beds,
were dreaming of magical places,
and I bemoaned my condition
while having my cigarette in the garage.
I thought of summer, which was expected
to come, maybe tomorrow or never,
I figured I'd be sleeping when it did.
I thought of the hours I'd missed.
The moth returned after awhile,
she blinked her wings again and again,
She seemed to know I had a mild fever,
she seemed to know my memories too.
Let me go, I said. Be off. I want to sleep.
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