moth-filled

i've tried really hard to keep them
in the pillowcase. before we go to bed,
i go around the house, capturing 
as many moths as i can. my hands end up dusty
from their wing powder. they tell me,
"please, i want a light big enough
to keep us all." i lie to them.
i explain that in our sleep, every creature
can find a sun. i deposit them in the pillowcase.
i don't know when this started. you were
weeping about the plethora of moths
who inhabit the house. i needed a solution.
i could not bring myself to kill them. i tried
throwing them back outside. i tried 
talking to the spiders who explained,
"they are too large for our mouths." i even tried
walking them to the mailbox & telling them
they could have that little cavern all to themselves.
the bedroom has long been their favorite host.
with one light & our undulating griefs
if becomes a place suited to afterlives.
i often see the moths in my dreams. the same ones
who live in the pillowcase. this is my evidence
for the theory that if we all pressed ourselves
tight enough together we could share the same
sleep world as we do the awaking one. 
i feel them glass beads & secrets. this is more
than enough for the moths. somehow 
the pillowcase never runs out of room. 
it is deeper than i could have even imagined.
sometimes the moths will ask, "when are you
going to come too?" i put it off. i tell them,
"i am supposed to be a husband." they say,
"we are all husbands in the dark." i flick on 
the light switch at the back of my throat
so my eyes can shine in their infinity space. 
for a moment i am the moth mother. a salvation,
then the lights off. the darkness. so so many wings.