Basement Nocturne


In a cradle of damp concrete
The life-sodden moths were born
Wrapped in grey furs, these midwives of mould
Make static of the breathless cellar air
Eternal infants beat at every window 
Each collision eliciting
Another burst of dust 
As they tear themselves apart
Trying to reach the light 

You should never have had to share that air with them 
No person should
In that still-born underground
That confusion of life
Where the pale violence of moonlight
Forms a thousand crucifixes 
Against the glass oubliette of the sky