Your first thought when the light snaps on and the black wings
              clatter about the kitchen      is a bat

the clear part of  your mind considers rabies      the other part
              does not consider      knows only to startle

and cower away from the slap of  its wings      though it is soon
              clearly not a bat but a moth      and harmless
 
still you are shy of it       it clings to the hood of the stove
              not black but brown      its orange eyes sparkle

like televisions      its leg joints are large enough to count
              how could you kill it      where would you hide the body

a creature so solid must have room for a soul
              and if  this is so      why not in a creature

half  its size      or half its size again      and so on
              down to the ants      clearly it must be saved

caught in a shopping bag and rushed to the front door
              afraid to crush it      feeling the plastic rattle

loosened into the night air      it batters the porch light
              throwing fitful shadows around the landing

That was a really big moth      is all you can say to the doorman
              who has watched your whole performance with a smile

the half-compassion and half-horror we feel for the creatures
              we want not to hurt      and prefer not to touch