I walk along the path at twilight
my feet protesting the indignity of ridiculous
shoes and uneven paving stones
A moth leaves the comforting glow of a streetlamp,
ticklish velvet wings wantonly brush my face
“You’re drunk” I say, and with a warm breath
gently blow it eastwards
A small fox-shaped shadow falls across my feet.
Its startled owner regards me with suspicion,
my face reflected in the dark wells of its eyes
The scented heartache of camellia rises up
to greet me as I reach my door and pause.
I grasp its cold handle, and as it turns
a moth lands softly on my outstretched hand
I ask, “Did you miss me?”
It brushes my cheek, and with a sigh of its wings, continues its lunar journey alone