Light Sources

I’m a moth trying to use the moon to get me home.
The moon is a Frisbee that spins across the sky for everyone
to see, to gaze at, for meteors to hit, to yell at
because in outer space it doesn’t have any idea
that being far away allows people
to say things that they don’t mean.
 
Around the moon, the stars gather in groups,
already assigned to their constellation while I fly
indistinguishable in my form— a white speck on black,
spray painted paper.
 
Flying in the dark can be like putting your hand
in a cardboard box at a Halloween stall
to touch eyeballs and intestines.
When I see the lantern man
in his car with his eyes closed,
I forget the feeling of being alone.
 
The lantern man carries a light with him.
I get distracted; ignore the moon and stars once in awhile;
spiral in on him when he makes me coffee,
or takes an unplanned nap.
I make circles on his back, cheek…
 
His flame is soft in my ear, flickers
in front of my eyes like the flutter of a wing;
I’m lost and found in the night where the stars
are their own and the moon pulls on me;
I know that being close to him will damage my wings,
but I can’t help but feel more at home with him
than out where I’m supposed to be.

^1 ^2