to a Luna Moth
Pardon me, pilgrim. I forgot your name
When you arrived last night at our front door,
A baneful vagrant from the stormy skies,
Your broad wings marked with two ferocious eyes.
But your fierce gaze proved beauty in disguise.
A dusty sweetness under fictive eyes.
Giant of your fragile race, you came
By gusty happenstance and nothing more.
Yet still I wondered what had brought you here
So late when I, too, wandered aimlessly.
But mute with wonder, how could I inquire
The secrets of your lunar embassy?
This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 38 Number 9, on page 28
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