Two moths around a flame,
flirting in small sorties
with danger, without passion.
The first dies, wings charred,
immortalized in wax,
at least till the candle lasts.
The second ceaselessly turns and dives
into the shallow depths of darkness
beneath the candle stand.
Without warning electricity returns
drowning every nook and cranny with light.
Like a spark the moth goes
around the tube
clinking and colliding, again and again
trying, I think, to bathe in flames
without much effect.
