Sudden slave-bound moths
Flutter me. So what if shadowed light
Brings them in. Soft and sometimes
Scary flitter-touch upon my arms,
Storm evening now, again, redescends,
The lamp besides me never grins.

Where thunder flung its voice about,
Enjoyment soothes a monsoon self.
It matters not where lightening eyes,
Its plunder never sees its end,
As ever moving storm transforms
The sodden image of the earth within.

Now bugs have fallen dead again,
Upon a corn-boiled water left,
Under fluorescent light lightening
Up my range’s upper top, still lit.
A lovely storm occurred tonight,
Again its lesson never stops. Or wins.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 9/1/11