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ShadowThree times I put my foot downon...



Three times I put my foot down

on a moth which dropped from

lamp, to desk, to floor.

The first bootthump warns of death.

Backed by density of rug, the moth

sets her wings for flight, but

never moves. My final blow

is a roof collapsing. The moth sits

poised, perfect and serene in death.

I lift her carefully, examine

feathery antennae, compound eye,

gray-thread legs decorously crossed.

Plain cousin of Monarchs, destroyer

of wools, emblem of futility, you

too require earth, air, water, fire

for your life; you fly away or hide

from enemies; you do not fight. You

leave a dark gray shadow on my rug. her spirit is wombed

awaiting new birth -- in a

land i can't locate

Robin Stratton

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