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What of the one who stole the violet
on arrival at the place where no thief comes?
Late of the world of speculation,
too late for the trespass with the damage done

in the violet hour before the sky turned black
terrified magpie saw the tiger limping towards Spring.
While greedy moth alighted destroying chasuble and stole
by gilded stars illumined until the rain set in.

Only fragments remain, scarcely worth the taking:
A pearl of a cottage without roses round the door
bluebells in a border, stones in sacred salvers,
rainbow painted shells from a blue-lipped shore.

He who was dead is now living and he waits for the thief -
Waiting for the thief
waiting for an answer
to the overwhelming question

Do Tiger-moths fly in the rain?

© Anne Lovejoy, March 2010