I have killed the moth flying around my night-light; wingless and dead it lies
by Benjamin De Casseres
upon the floor.
(O who will kill the great Time-Moth that eats holes in my soul
and that burrows in and through my secretest veils!)
My will against its will, and no more will it fly at my night-light
or be hidden behind the curtains that swing in the winds.
(But O who will shatter the Change-Moth that leaves me in rags --
tattered old tapestries that swing in the winds that blow out of Chaos!)
Night-Moth, Change-Moth, Time-Moth, eaters of dreams and of me!