by Stephen Petroff
Moon and moth,
Take us upon the night sky,
All but out of reach
Of philistines and loathsome politicians,
Who hound artists as they hound
All trespassers and drug smugglers.
There are only two of You.
We have no other protectors apart from
You–our–Moon, and moth.
Of our Moon: Recognized by All Other Muses,
You move all bodies of water.
And the Moth: Our Creator has hairy eyebrows
And glittering wings.
Moon that is the body of my Muse: In your many
Faces, all of them lit by such distant fires,
Love has been fading from your eyes and face
Since the beginning, and it is pale.
Moth that gives an image of the sacred:
Your singed wings, your thin black legs in the wax–pool
At the candle’s base: each morning new proof of a God’s existence.