autotelic, autistic, assonance-hole©.

Lepidoptera Analagosa

Rainy day funk on a Friday’s eve,
I contemplate realities, the “what is”,
and flutter briefly against the pane
of “what is not” before settling,
breathless and annoyed, upon the sill.

The analogous moth, trembling antennae,
adjusting wings, scattering scales;
peering at the veil separating worlds, transparently
annoying, for all its impermanent permanence.

The mind of a skittish moth has no sense;
not of breaking through, nor of shattered glass,
only resting, inaudible panting and recovery,
gathering energy and strength for relaunch.

The analogy unfurls like loose yarn and is lost;
once upon a time, there was moth who thought
it was a phoenix… arrogance brought to bay
upon a najavo-white window sill; fluttering,
fluttering to stillness while watching the rain.