Giant Moths

June 13 2012

Giant moths

worship light,

hurtling into screens

thrumming their wings

against hard steel mesh,

so loud, I wonder

will it hold?

Such fierce devotion

to their god.

Fundamentalists,

who would swarm the white hot filament

singe, burn, crisp.

The smell of insect flesh.

Charred bodies, at rest.

They look alien, grotesque,

all bristling antennae and trailing legs

and immense buggy bodies

too big for lift.

Whose unquestioned faith

seems purposeless.

Come day

do they draft high into the stratosphere

in pursuit of sun?

Do they track the waxing moon

to the cusp of dawn?

As they throng my house

in the dead of night.

I flick the switch

plunging into darkness.

A final futile thump,

then blessed quiet

like a long held breath. 

Have exhausted moths

gone wandering off

to some dull glow in the distance,

sacrificial pilgrims

wishing to serve?

Or are they gathering strength

for the next assault

on my open window?

Giant moths,

who venerate electric light.

That false god

who cannot save them.