White Moth Sacrifice

White Moth Sacrifice

Wings beating so fast, they were a blur,

The white moth flew near the patio ceiling.

She did not move far, only inches.

The better to camouflage himself, the white frog in the corner

Moved higher, closer.

I thought the moth would fly away,

But, as if hypnotized, she stayed in place.

The frog leapt toward her, and paused,

Hungry, yet fascinated by the whirling ivory wings.

Immobile, I watched the drama play out.

Wings still beating, she crept closer to him.

I wanted to wave my arms, to toss something to startle her into flight
Or the frog into retreat.

Hypnotized myself, I did nothing.

Instead, I continued to watch as she moved even closer,

As if offering herself—her life—as an ivory sacrifice.

A snap of the frog’s mouth accepted her sacrifice,

The beat of those white wings ceased,

And then they disappeared.

I felt a twinge of sadness and regret.

In vain, I tried to soothe those pangs and said aloud,

“It’s nature.”

I am not soothed, and instead

I remember that white blur of wings

Against the darkening night.