Jim Hodge
Moth on a Step

No idea, whatsoever, why this morning,
          when I stepped outside into vengeful heat,
and dodged a solitary moth on the porch step,
          that I thought of you.

Perhaps it was remembrances of photos you have sent?
     A gray Eastern Wood Peewee on a grey Beech,
     more stone than fibre, standing sentinel.
Clearly a Corinthian, crowned in Sugar Maple,
      and not Acanthus.

Or perhaps it was more a feeling of small feet on layered slate,
     bathed in the headwaters of the Cuyahoga, surrounded in bladder fern,
          cushioned by obliging Helodium.

None-the-less, there I was staring at a grey moth that sought the shade,
    that surely thought, ‘I can do that… I can do cement’, and then she did.