The Moth walked in, sullen
I asked him what the trouble was
He spoke soft lighting a cigarette
wings hanging loose and grey at his sides
"I don't even know what to say...where to start"
He asked if I would mind the smoke
I shook my head and passed him an ash trey
the smoke billowed past his huge sparkling eyes
proboscis unfurled between his front feet
"It's the seasons," he said
"I can't take the change.
The bark of the trees too cold and unfriendly.
My wings just can't match the cold.
All of my loves are lost in the leaves.
All the street lights are dim and the days are too short.
The sidewalk empty
No one in the streets
No lamplight
No candles
Not a flicker of hope
No one to light my way home
No home to return to
No place to hide my body
or light to pull me close
My body peppered and polluted but not shared.
I find myself beaten against the same brick walls
or chasing lightbulbs trying to find the moon
A moon that escapes behind smokey clouds and refuses to guide me No beacon left." 

I looked at his face haloed in smoke, moved in my own confused concern. "This is all very serious...but why come to me?"
He looked at me gravely 

"Because your light was on." 

published 2017 The Battering Ram