A small white moth turns up, and the speaker starts playing with what it might mean. The first lines dress it like a bride, "in white to wed," and then slide into something stranger: "the road to the word." The moth's flight becomes a kind of path toward language, as if the creature and the act of writing are linked.
Then the poem swerves into office talk. "All applications are now in / and papers delivered" sounds like a deadline has passed and the busy part is over. The last lines ask whether a moth might "do little like an office," meaning it could quietly carry out a small, unofficial kind of business.
The mood is light, dry and a little dreamy. The speaker seems amused, even tender, setting the soft, aimless moth against the stiff world of forms and paperwork. The poem suggests that something fragile and pale can still feel like it has a purpose, even if it barely does anything at all.