A flying insect presses against the window screen.
Although it is a fine mesh, perhaps the insect will
slip an egg through a tiny square in the screen.
The egg could grow large, become a looming shadow.
The shadow might block out the light, then the light
would retreat to the outside, become a flying insect.
If it went from house to house, the houses could band
together, become a thriving metropolis, like an enormous
moth nesting on the continental shelf — blind, but not deaf.
It could hear the wee sounds of the faintest heartbeat
coming from this original room, us, and in that way
it would know that it had completed its assignment.
All of the wars would cease, because there was nothing
to protect or defend, the whole world would have become
translucent, like an egg under the wing of an enormous moth.
In its own merciful style, it will have humbly fulfilled
the supreme mandate of heaven upon the good earth.
Every frightened animal will relax at last, and rest.