Common Moth

Born out of dust, of dust’s consistency,
You start, from the immensity of night,
A wisp of fluttering transparency,
Glorious with willingness, this final flight.

In whirling circles toward the light and heat —
The altar for your pagan heresy,
With dipping shy advance, flash of retreat
You weave the pattern of your ecstasy.

For this, the sluggish childhood and the birth
In burrowed mud-holes of obscurity;
Slow crawling hours beneath the crust of earth
And prison shells for hope’s maturity?

Ash wings, slight shape; emerging motion lights
The breath of beauty and fragility
Too late to change in these last whirling rites
Your sacrificial, still earth-bound humility.

Antipodal Couplets

Snails obey the holy
Will of God slowly.

Leonard Feeney

The deer at topmost speed
Whiffs lovingly God’s lead.

Daniel Sargent

(These poems were originally published in From the Housetops, Volume III, No.1, September, 1948.)