Camouflage

The wind-blown rain-driven leaf plastered to the doorjambis a moth, wings spread wide, a leaf-like moth;serrated edges of its silken grey-brown wingsdusted with cinnamon-colored markingscause it to resemble a dead oak-leaf fallen on cement basement    stepsvisited by slugs and pillbugs, an occasional toad, come summer,small moths drawn to the lighted doorway.The bug stays for days perched on its doorpostawaiting the return of warm spring weather,braced against cold nights, fastened to cracked chalky white    paintlike an arrowhead pointing our way.Seasons change, dead things come alive again.