Dave Bonta's short poem pictures a moth in the woods and gives her a surprising quality: she is "her own light." Instead of being drawn toward a flame or a lamp, she brings her glow with her. The poem then sets up an expectation and quietly breaks it. We might assume darkness would bring "joy," a kind of easy, shadowy comfort for a night creature, but the moth offers "haste" instead. She seems busy, driven, a little anxious.
The final line is the strangest and most tender. A "heart studious to be a room" suggests the moth's heart is working hard, almost like a student, to become a space with walls and shelter. One way to read it is that her light creates a small, private room in the dark forest. The speaker doesn't state a feeling outright, but the mood is hushed, curious, and gently affectionate, with a thread of urgency running underneath.