I squint my eyes.
I see tiny stars dotted in the after-dinner, too-early for bed sky.
UGH.
A darn mars moth keeps swarming into my view.
The mars moth is a fleck with fiery paper wings. Delicate and detectable.
The mars moth glows like the embers of fire — spouting red light into the darkness.
This mars moth mocks me — fervently flapping its wings towards the hazy city lights.
Hovering over sinners and saints.
Pestering me with its frenzied flow.
The mars moth will perpetually tantalize me in its freckled speckled body and dusty wings.
No light is limiting.
No night sky is inhibiting,
for the mars moth.
For it will forever spin around the Earth and
the Sun and the one lone lightbulb in the Sequoia National Park.
The mars moth in its scintillant scurry faded and flew away as the sun rose above the Eastern Mountains.
Mars moth remains hidden.
For moths are attracted to light.
While Mars moth loves the mystery of the dark.
