In the Valley of Moments

Rain splinters into moisture
as moths in the twilight
wings beating
eagerly for attention

feel their flutters on my face

catapulting droplets come
closer to death
my warmth evaporating their
strength.

I know their movements
are soon fleeting
as one then two and a third
even more
escaping downwards.

Reality is oblivion.
Yet oblivion is not the end
of one’s journey.

© Richard L. Provencher