Moth, silver-green like glow- in the-dark delicate feathers of antennae scenting secret moth codes and me its wings flap open, looking like the man in the moon. It's balanced on my finger, weightless and shimmering, planting proboscis-light kisses down my hand. It travels with me and I hold it up, as if to light the way by the glow of its wings. It senses an urgent appointment with the moon or a porchlight, and with a final kiss and a flutter, it leaves me to my walk.