All welcome.
The Moth Box,
We have caught the night.
It sleeps in here,
pulled in by light.
We open it in day,
take out the shapes
and name them.
Scorched Wing, Tussock,
White Ermine, Marbled Coronet,
Green Carpet, Phoenix.
We lift them out,
look at them through hand lenses,
marvel at their intricacy.
We leave them in the shade
to sleep out,
they merge into garden.
Later, they will flap in quick quivers,
heat their delicate tiled wings,
soar into the dark.
