Moth

A night sky bereft of light,
stars shrouded in cloud.
A pulsing, whispering, whoosh that might be
wild winds whipping through the trees,
nor waves crashing on the beach.
Sounds louder – and closer – in the heavy, scented darkness
than they will be in daylight.
Monotonous hum of the fridge,
standing sentinel in the corner
while deep shadows stroll across the floor.
A desperate flurry of furry wings:
a lone moth, sole companion,
sucked towards the light of the computer screen,
dancing frantically against the windowpane, the ceiling, my face…
My mind, like the moth, will not settle to sleep
but flits from restless dreams to conscious anxiety,
refusing to still its wings and let me float away into gentle dreams
creating worries where none exist in daylight,
and only retreating when dawn creeps into the sky.

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