A single flame
entices them
to whir against my window.
Once inside
all chaos is let loose.

Like maddened souls
they batter thin partitions.

I can hear them
banging round my room
like noisy kids.

Two are coasting down the flame,
collapsing, fluttering
like mute, sad birds.

You find them dead in lampshades:
unhappy victims of a single impulse:
their greatest escapade
the flame or lamp that was their ruin.