Lepidoptera

The shades are open
What moonlight there is
Shines like the skin of a ghost on the wall
The air from the fan
Blows so that
The blue on the map on the wall waves
A moth with its dirty blownglass wings
Flapping in slow motion
The size of kites
Flies through the room
Over the moonlit ocean
Toward the unlit lightbulb on the ceiling
Its eyes
Wet with ink
Scan the room like a lighthouse smile
Its tongue
As large as mine
Runs against the sides of its mouth
I’m in my bed
I can feel my legs
My feet
My hands
But I can’t move or speak
My guardian angel has finally arrived