Butterfly

Feeling breathless

Sweet air fills my lungs

and makes me dizzy as

I race after.

The butterfly bobs on invisible crests of wind.

In the gold spectacled trees with blackened bark

fresh from an early morning shower?

By the swaying stalks of grass and wild flowers

that keep time to a fond old song?

In the paper blue sky that comforts us from the

blackness? I spin around and around, drunk on the

drippings of honeysuckle in the air.

Ah.

Swirling. Fluttering. Disappearing in between

the hard midday shadows and swaying luminescent

green hands of an oak tree.

Intricate webs and loops on his wings stretched

like raindrops in the wind.

Yellow and maroon glow like a specter in the

night. The stained glassed windows of the outdoor

cathedral. He dances by my fingertips. Free.

As he waves his painted canvases up and down,

against the splashes of wind,

I imagine his smudged wings between my fingers,

smeared with his sparkling grey magic.

His silent scream rails me like a tidal wave

sending me over the cliffs from paradise.

I follow the butterfly's cascading flight of

freedom toward the flossy green meadow where it

meets with another.

They flutter together playfully as I marvel at

the pure blue sky.