So out there on the windowsill, fluttering in the moonlight,
bathing in starlight like ebony gossamer
something shimmers, shifts and disappears
faster than the eye can follow
I wish I could follow
and follow it oh-so-far.

Where are you going in such a hurry?
With your wings set down
to cup the gentle wind
on the midsummer night
when everything is peaceful
and the neighborhood is restless
but quietly rumbling
like the tiger on the mattress,
who's watching those able wings,
that swiftly sift the air in time
to look for better things to find.

Hungry now, I take it.
I can't hold you.
Not with my mind or hands,
so I release you from my sight
in the hopes of a good tomorrow
for you, remaining free.
Bat or moth?
I shan't ask anymore.