Tiger moth in the print room

A fluttering moment of beauty

Noticed between the window and

The Copyright Act 1968

Hazily reprinted to reprimand us

That the tiger moth is not

A copy but a repeated pattern

A small solemn patter of life 

That flashes on the back of my eyelids

Shadows and burnt orange of sunrise

Blinking and paper-thin

This specimen of all tiger moths

Moves across page and hour

The way dark and light

Sound and image flutter

Caught between the name

And the difficulty of knowing

This tiger moth whose copy

Imprints itself upon me

Offers a pattern of stillness and

Writes roaring in silence