Sid sits blind grasping at the glowing moths circling

They move rhythmically altering angles at each spiral

Around the air, about the child, swift

With his small hands grasping nothingness…

He sought the glows

That first cruised towards him in his tracks …

Filled with furious sounds.

Now, wafting gently in the air like green orbs of light,

Within the cool dark of pupils.