The Moths by Mary Oliver There’s a kind of white moth, I don’t know / what kind, that glimmers / by mid-May / in the forest, just / as the pink mocassin flowers / are rising. / If you notice anything, / it leads you to notice / more / and more. / And anyway / I was so full of energy. / I was always running around, looking / at this and that. / If I stopped / the pain / was unbearable. / If I stopped and thought, maybe / the world / can’t be saved, / the pain / was unbearable. Finally, I noticed enough. / All around me in the forest / the white moths floated. / How long do they live, fluttering / in and out of the shadows? / You aren’t much, I said / one day to my reflection / in a green pond, / and grinned. / The wings of the moths catch the sunlight / and burn / so brightly. At night, sometimes, / they slip between the pink lobes / of the moccasin flowers and lie there until dawn, / motionless / in those dark halls of honey.
