Moths
Small moths stir
in the darkness.
I feel their
wings brush my
face, my hands,
remembering the cry
of something unseen.
It is windy
again this morning.
* * *
“Moths” first appeared here in July 2015.
O at the Edges
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
O at the Edges 
Loved this. I just finished reading a sci-fi series in which humans evolved from insects. The moth-kinden were mystical creatures who hadn’t developed an aptitude for even the simplest mechanical devices.
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I could be one of the moth-kinden in human disguise…
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You might be! I read every book in the series, and decided that I must be a wasp-kinden. I didn’t want to be one, but physically that’s my match.
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I’d probably be a slug-kinden or some such… 🙂
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Funny you say that, the slugs were like ancient gods.
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Well, then…
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The books were entertaining, but the final one left readers hanging. I tweeted the author and he assured me that the story wouldn’t end there. I couldn’t sleep not knowing what happened to my favorite beetle-kinden. Sheesh. I need a life.
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A sign of a good storyteller! Which series is this?
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Adrian Tchaikovsky. I’ve been obsessed.
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Thank you!
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Ah man, why’d it have to be moths? Haha I don’t know why but they creep me out! Loved the poem man, wasn’t expecting the chills. But hey I read to feel something. (Probably should’ve been warned by the title haha)
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Thanks very much, Jacob. I’m so pleased it resonated with you, despite the subject. Ha!
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the biggest, most mysterious moths I have ever seen are in Moldova – they have a fat body and large wings and a strange purple/ indigo sheen, but the thing I find most intriguing is their stillness, even after shed light on them, they pretend to be dead.
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How beautiful! I’d love to observe them.
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