The Moth

Thump, thump.

I see a moth in the half-light,

Challenging my lamp,

Desperate and alive.

The precious luminescence it would take for its own.

I wonder,

Does it know what it fights for?

Doubt it,

It’s a fucking moth.

She’s two miles down the hill,

But she’s still here –

I see her hairclips,

Her toothbrush.

She’s there, curled up in my bed

Constant and a comfort,

Yet oh so very fleeting.

The uni prospectuses litter my room.

I must leave all this to search for that glow in the night,

The uncertain promise.

I don’t know what I’m fighting for.

Thump, thump.