Elegy for a Moth

I one day caught a star in the night’s sky.

with a crooked finger I pulled it through the clouds it called home

only to use it as light for my writing.

 

on the desk a moth landed on my new star

left a light dusting of itself on the star’s skin, giving off smoke.

I knocked over a cup of pencils and pens to swipe at it

 

the smell of the moth’s legs kindling on the star

turned my stomach every which way. my heart sat bone-caged above

worse for the wear, I’m afraid, rabbiting about

 

my star bitterly melted the cap of a spilled pen, and I

watched the moth burn in the molten plastic as it pooled around it.

I returned the star to its home in the clouds. I wrote by the light of this burning moth

 

I used the pen it died in. I wrote of the star it died for.

its short life smothered, and all for the glow of a stolen star.

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