White Moths vs. Perseids

We’re very good at
Distinguishing things
For your convenient
Edification—

What your systems see
As similar blurs
Streaking through vision
In small summer hours,

Meaning nothing much,
Neither threat nor food,
Neither mate nor kin—
Just quick, pale twitches

Of peripheral
Perception—we make
Into names, for you,
For quite different things—

That’s a shooting star.
That was just a moth.
One was a dust speck
Burning atmosphere,

The other a life,
Like yours, seeking food.
We love to help you
Sort worlds in boxes.