White moth, dark moth, mottled grey, feathered moths
Why do you approach us, with our houses, our boats,
clinging to the edge of the lake?
Our cabins, our railings, and beach chairs.
Oh, white moth and dark moth, how have you strayed here?
Away from cool moss, from pine seedlings
Away from mushrooms, yellow or deadly white and from dead leaves
In the cool woods where trees fall alone.
White moth and dark moth, welcome in the damp-mist morning,
before the last dream of a bridge
Where is the dream, white moth, dark moth?
Fading away with the last turn into the pillow,
like the lake mist fading up, away from the gone night.
And here is day, white moth and dark moth.