Moth Song

I did not begin as a caterpillar.

I've never known how to be a small thing,

how to creep and feed and patiently work

toward metamorphosis. I was all fits and

starts in the beginning, a cycle of rush

and fumble, of falling in love & falling

down the only evolution I've ever known.

So, I set my wings in ink to still them,

pinned them in open positions around my

heart: at rest but receptive. I learned

how to simply listen, how to

want without chasing, how to

bask in light without

throwing myself at it

in full-bodied violence--though I can't

promise that I won't sometimes rush too

quickly out the gates every now & then,

that I won't get so lost in the moment

that I can't find my way back to myself

when the moon tugs too hard at my

nocturnal nature. I would have to

surrender all my recklessness and

half myself to keep that vow.

The balance I've built does not meet in

the middle, but is measured twice: once

in the quiet I have cultivated and once

in the shameless joy I began with.