The Black Light



the jewelled shells of tiger beetles darting 

     over lichen spotted limestone 

the soft clockwork purr of dragonflies 

     snatching gnats and midges from the pollen thick air 

the alien keen of cicadas hidden in the tall white pines 



all of these have stayed with me 

bright icons of my childhood 



but the black light stands apart 



the garage at the cottage and my father’s black light 

the black light that would     at night draw the big moths in 

summoning them as though from the shadows 

of another realm altogether 



I’d find them in the morning     there 

folded on the patched screen door 

     refugees 

rare mysteries with wings as large as my hands 

and weighty names that dwarved my own 

the Imperial moth 

the Promethea, the Luna 

the Pandora Sphinx 



the black light stands apart 



a small dark sun 

a waking dream of dawn 



     I coax a Pandora Sphinx

     onto the hollow of my palm 

     feel it trace my fortune there 

     and take flight 

     for the solace of the trees

© Warren Layberry