A butterfly takes flight
in a lonely meadow.
It is just before dusk and the sky
is riveted in violet.
Perhaps, this is its last journey.
(more) The chill of winter beckons,
the lonely heart
struggles to return
to warm and fluttering thoughts.
But, let us waste not
the culling of November.
The time of passing has come,
death to all that was.
Dreamtime has come for its own.
Whispers of long forgotten futures,
echo through the chrysalis
and the roots of the sleeping sentinels
are all adrift upon the oceans
They christened him Wing because he had just one. The other Monarchs had majestic wings orange as the Autumn leaves and thinner than any sail, wings that worked together precisely. "As God intended," an old female said.
(more) Wing didn't know what God intended. Obviously, he wasn't meant to fly. Clever attempts on his part to fashion another wing met with disaster. He plummeted out of trees and once almost spiked himself on a rose thorn.
Wing's mother said, "Never mind them," when Wing came to her crying because the flight school, the young butterflies, had mocked him again. "There are many gifts and you are yet to discover yours. Come let us taste the dew."
Like most butterflies, Wing was easily distracted. But because of his difficulty, he was wiser too. It was Wing who was seen strolling with a sad caterpillar who thought she'd never transition. It was Wing who was seen cheering in the meadow for the butterflies blinking in the sunlight of their new lives. It was Wing who was seen offering a cheerful word in almost any situation.
Yet for a long time, no butterfly would have him. He watched the delirious acrobatic couplings of his friends with resignation. To be trudging alone below the manifest blue sky seemed his eternal fate. When his mother died, he felt even more desolate.
He hung out at a bar for beetles some nights and drank moon shine. "Wing," said one, "why so long in the jaw?"
Wing smiled. "No reason." He walked out under the blinking stars and wished on one. Same thing. Asked for a wing. Canceled that request. Asked for love.
The next week, a beautiful migrating butterfly fell exhausted from the sky. Wing nursed her to health. When he asked her to stay, she stayed.
You flutter about tangled in my thoughts
no matter what I'm thinking
you infiltrate my mind, even now,
it's not like it's on purpose
my thoughts aren't that easily controlled
they have a mind of their own
(more) and all they want to think about is you
they try to take me over like I wish you would
and they can't be tamed
somehow you keep me calm and
breathing where there's no air
laughing through the hard parts
when we mesh, and oh how we can mesh,
it's all natural-like and not unfamiliar
we mirrored each other long before we knew
just kept our heads down and played the game
now the payoff's closer and the dream-state is a constant
and like a content kitten I wait to pounce playful
with or without my claws pulled in(less)