joy inflamed

I was in the kitchen
making rotis
on a burning disc,
when a tiny moth
looped in front of my eyes,
dancing and flaunting
her infinitesimal ordinariness
for a few moments,
until she dived
towards the flame
without a thought,
to the instant death
of a life lived
on the wings of a joy
that cannot be named,
only inflamed
with the breath
of impermanence.