Something of Infinite Value

I picked up a moth/ The wings were dusted with something./ Without really knowing why/ I handled it with an intense feeling of love.

Something of Infinite Value

I picked up a moth
The wings were dusted with something.
Without really knowing why
I handled it with an intense feeling of love.

The moth had flown in my window
The window that I had kept shut
For many years
I don’t know what made me open the window.

I’d lit a small candle in the window
And it was a beautiful candle
But I hadn’t appreciated its beauty
Until after I’d lit it.

Although there had been a storm outside
The moth had drifted in
With graceful movements that if penned
would have been wondrous to read.

I had an incredible need
To hold the moth with infinite care
I felt drawn to her and this feeling
Began to take on an unknown urgency.

The wings were folded
When I first really noticed her
And she hesitated to open them to me at first
But in the warmth of the room she began.

I think it was the safety
Of my cupped hands that helped.
But she was strong and beautiful in her own right,
And with a growing assurance, she opened them.

How can I describe the glory
Of that first glimpse of colour and light
That sparkled into the room
As she unfolded her wings.

Words cannot describe
The inner beauty of this creature
That many had passed by in the darkness of night
And I could not at first believe my privilege.

Such infinite beauty
Beauty of the body of the heart,
Of the mind and of the soul. Hidden well
Hidden where only the lucky, by chance might find it.

As I gazed down
Into the swirling passionate dance
Of colour and light that I saw
Powerful emotions swept over me, drawing me down.

I abandoned myself
To the sensations of falling and turning
I had no resistance or desire to resist.
I felt such a yearning to be merged with her.

As if there were no reality or time,
I felt myself metamorphosising
Now instead of a fragile moth and a man,
There were two radiant winged beings, circling the candle.

As they entwined,
Sometimes closely, other times loosely,
Waves of joy and yearning spread from their coloured wings,
To a primeval beat, orchestrating their movements.

With a purposeful change of direction
They turned into the flame of the candle
Without hesitation, without regret
They dived into the flame because there was no alternative.