The Dark Side of the Planet
June 6 2003


This is too easy for metaphor.
Moths furiously circling the light
beating against hot temptation.
Driven by instinct, I suppose,
but the ferocious thump and drum of wings against the screen
sound closer to anger
than methodical destiny.
And where do these creatures vent their intensity
past this outpost in the wilderness
the feeble glow of the last porch light of civilization?

Do they ascend in the cool rarefied air
to pursue the fleeting light of the moon,
all the moths on the dark side of the planet
rising with the determination of nature
like one great fluttering shadow?
Only to be defeated by thin air
and by the sun rising like a torrent in the east,
each dawn this single-minded armada
disintegrating into a confusion of wings.