I.
I opened my front door,
and there you were—
brilliant, gigantic,
a fiery orange moth.
Your wings upright,
spread before my eyes.

Signal Atlas.

II.
Captured in the vision of you,
I barely noticed
when the door across from mine cracked open.
He stood watching me with precision
as my wonder lit up—
there for the taking.

III.
“Do you see it?” I asked.
I worried he might crush it underfoot,
so I moved carefully,
let it climb into my hand—
its warmth imprinting itself
into my body,
my heart,
for the rest of this orbit.

IV.
He never took his eyes off me.
Never looked down at the moth.
Never cared what it meant—
placed there between us,
for a reason we once called healing.

His desire, the first I’d ever felt,
burned through my corneas
until I fell under his spell—
ill-tongued, his hypnotic gaze.

V.
The moth: our contract.
That I would heal, and you would heal,
and through our burning
we’d find the light hidden in the wound.

I took the moth,
and I took him
up into me—
and learned to carry them carefully:
the final wand,
the torch that’s now mine to hold.

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