Thursday, February 23, 2012

In the Land of Butterflies

We search the desert sands
for butterflies---the one
which reflects the colors swirling
within us, making us
who we are. I think
mine is small and blue---
it wants to be bigger, a beautiful blue
and black bird-wing, wings
almost a foot wide, impossible
not to see, impossible
to ignore.
How many caterpillars
are out there, masquerading
as butterflies? Can't see wee them
for their false wings?
I lived with a caterpillar once---
I thought she was a butterfly.
In truth, she never matured.
So I search these desert sands
for other butterflies---butterflies
with wings of gold, reflecting
the sun so you cannot see them, mistake them
for something other than butterflies---
until they take off, drifting
light on the desert winds. Her shine
makes her difficult to see,
difficult to obtain,
though I must obtain her
if my own butterfly is to expand
into the blue and black bird-wing.

So I search, knowing I may instead---
certainly will in the end---
find a black-winged butterfly
that will take me finally away
to the end.

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