the delicate little bodies
thrash velvet wings in a violent parade
they
throw themselves at the glass cage of fire
that is my porch light
( a jealous understudy of the sun; 
she is a liar)

the dance wont end until morning
which it is not
and
i 
will
wait

finally an angry cry
rips through one of the mouths

everybody likes butterflies
better than moths

said it had something to do
with them being smaller
said it had someting to do
with them being browner

they marched on

thud thud thud

i thought i was wise
back then
thought i knew how to fix
broken things

so i said

the sun is out of reach
be happy you will never get there
it kills little bugs like you