THERE IS A MOTH

There is a moth
in my living room
who flies by
night and day
near my lantern
and light
so I begin to pray
as his breezy shadow
is near my kitchen window
he obeys his nature
to be out in the air
when he finally leaves me
and daringly escapes
by my linen drapes
for the boughs of trees,
in waiting for him to go
outside my hallways,
I draw his picture
in a miniature extension
at my primitive art of painting
by the tall pines
and Evergreen
like Emily Dickinson
always caring to be free
from the sloth of sin
that with my prayer cloth
and cross
in my discipline
the moth will be lost again.