We wonder what the moth wonders
when she flutters to the lone,
warm bulb that stutters
in the nondescript nook of our house,
possibly looking for faith the way we do.
If she does find it fumbling in trepid waters
that are first bitter and soon engulfing like most
unfamiliar emotions, we may think she is where
we are, at the brink of realizing that we are not
really omnipotent. That is probably where god comes
from – an enclosed hood with one wavering light bulb,
a grey-winged moth and its faith in light.


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