It flew in the wide, open doors
From Downtown, it will travel farther than it has ever been.
Fluttering in a windowed vacuum with sardined commuters
Knocking into mirrored windows,
Searching for escape in vain
Settling for rest on an orange backpack,
The moth will enter a new world today.
Where the foods are spicy, the scents diverse and where more birds sing proudly.
The cars are nonstop, the people are alive and the S.U.V. with rims is king.
Under Soto Street it will take flight
Released from its metalic coffin inside the compartment of LA's GoldLine.
And be born again in Boyle Heights,
Where the Eastern Sun rises.
To mate and spread its seed or die
As ordained by fate.