I.

I'm off to the garage.
The moth is there.
It's really quite depressing.

I thought it was a stone
(until a kick from Xavier sent its wings rustling)
and I made a vain attempt at a rescue
only to have it sitting on my shelf
where I must watch its slow demise.

I've been watching it die for a couple of days now.

II.

I've tried to coax it to move with puffs of smoke but...

it has broken legs...
and tattered wings...
and I'm using the wrong kind of motivation apparently

because its latest response has been only
slight seizures
and nervous twitches

It's really quite disturbing.

III.

I thought it had laid an egg
on the cellophane of my pack of cigarettes
but it was only a drop of blood
from where its leg had been.

Did you know moths bleed in green?
They do.
A limy sorbet of a green that collects itself in pearls.

IV.

I found it this morning.

Its normally inquisitive antennae were still
Twisted and bent into an outreach of demonic horns

as if the very experience of death
had stolen away its innocence

and made of it, a jaded beast.

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