A Moth Aflame

To my friend who is struggling in a painful marriage

The sun sinks with a gasp, and as the light dies
The earth shuts her eyes
In disbelief. A silence spreads as dusk extends
To the edges and ends
Of houses. Gathered sticks are gently laid and lit
In a backyard pit
To consume and grow. A moth flirts in and out of sight,
A child of Night
Who comes alone to the holy summons of flickering fire
To dance with desire
By flames. So near, so near he draws with ragged wings
And wingéd eyes
Arrayed with scales. Addicted both to darkness and to light,
He flutters right
Close to blazing tongues, yet wanders away a while
Until the pile
Of wood crumbles and calls. He shivers in flight and returns.
The pyre burns
For him. The moth circles in and plunges deep
Into fire, weeps
For the pain, the cocoon of anguish and aching flame,
And finds his name:
Embersing. From under coals and charred limb
A scorched hymn
Emerges weak and faint; by death grows stronger
And death no longer
Has its grip on him. A new creature crawls out,
Shedding its doubt,
Sanctified by fire! Luminous wings unfold,
Now brilliant gold
And burnished brown, and lift him back to evening sky.
He journeys high
Among the trees to shed his light and share his name;
A moth aflame.


This is my first draft. I appreciate any comments, especially if I have allowed trite phrases or words too closely repeated (how many synonyms are there for flame???). Anyway, thanks for reading it.