Returning to my bedroom yesterday evening, with the small window
and the window’s dusty blind gathered up like puffed sleeves
I saw the moth. Every evening, there is a moth at my window
knocking on the glass and displaying its belly and legs.
Last night, this thought occurred to me: why is there one moth?
Does each moth have one window it haunts, one light it desires?
Following that was the thought, no, the certainty, that this moth
is the same moth each evening. I closed the blind and the moth flew
to the bottom of the pane, like giving a bow at the end of the show.
I resolved to keep the blind closed, and would have, if not for
the plant in the brown pot on the windowsill. Just like the moth
it has one sun it desires, beyond the window and above the garden
and would not be fooled by the heat and light of my reading lamp.
I considered bringing the moth inside, and taking the plant outside
but left them where they are until they tell me what they know.