TBT– butterflies! From two years ago. . . I still think the photos are pretty, although the poetry needs a little work. xoxo.
Wings passed me soft as a buttery wind or a shadow.
Imagine one alighting on my shoulder,
folding her wings of tiny, gilded feathers and slipping
like a secret sonnet beneath my shirt, next to my beating heart.
The man at the door warned us that release of such an exotic creature
could throw our whole ecosystem off balance and
was punishable with prison.
Then he slunk off through the screen-draped doors
to scowl and smoke.
If only I could be here, in the moment of wings
whose only job is to brush through the air.
If only I could be here, but I am distracted by the man
with rheumy eyes and smoke, by his sharp story,
by the heat of the day.
It is such a short, proud life of vibrant colors that both
please the eye and frighten…
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