It's a moth on the window,
trying to reach light
separated by glass pane,
a wall holding back small body
in the glow-speckled dark
from what lies ahead.
A brightness cascading
in precise angles,
warming at the edges,
clarifying what the speckles
won't illuminate.
The moth doesn't know
the tangles of glass,
the unyeilding translucence.
It doesn't know how to pass
what all seems to be so
clear.
...
