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(wc 174)

It came back
for a brief visit.
I saw it flutter in search for
a favorite blackberry leaf;
it perched a moment, but did not stay.

I’ve often looked for her eggs there,
in the winter, perhaps lined up
along the bare branch of thorns.
But I did not know, really,
what I was searching for, nor
what I expected to see.
Books of photographs, small help –
Descriptions metric, shapes
poorly defined, photos over-large.

The undulant newborn,
existing only to feed
upon its leafy meal;
does it know what is to come, or care,
of its plodding, inching life?
To sleep, perchance to fly,
some baffling dream?

I ask but one thing:
a child’s wonder in discovery –
the chrysalis – hanging there,
woven after the larva’s feast.
Oh, to perceive this secret change
of place, order, nature!
To understand that rest and sleep
as the silent and dynamic
quest for change –
the emergent butterfly at last –
the once and future metaphor
of metamorphosis.


My wish for you all is the abundance that is enough. . .