Ascent and Descent, Butterfly and Moth

The butterfly, as blue as sky, ascends
Into the sun, but does not fear to melt—
The moth, in pales green, flutters, descends
From off the moon, its body soft as felt. 

 

The shadows move from bright to dusk

The shadows move in gray

This body, moving, is a husk

Between the night and day.

 

The light and darkness, day and night, only seem to clash—

The moon reflects the sunlight to a moonbow made of ash.

 

Now, listen as the moths are flying

And smell the subtle scent

That brings them to the nectar lying

With sweetest truth that’s bent.

 

The butterflies descend and drink the sweet

Sun-warmed and ripened red persimmons—smell

Them as the rot upon the ground. The feet

Can taste them where they putrefy and fell.

 

Which life will you embrace?

Or will you trace 

Another through the trees

With dappled bees?

 

The light and darkness, day and night, only seem to clash—

The moon reflects the sunlight to a moonbow made of ash.

 

A sky of mist, a somewhere in between—

A cloud with sun, the seen and the unseen.

 

And though they drink at different hours,

They both are pollinating flowers.

The moth, the butterfly both mean

The same in all their pollen showers.

 

And both will drink the dew, 

And both will drink the tears—

And both will drink the juice,

And both relieve my fears.

 

The butterfly, as blue as sky, ascends

Into the sun, but does not fear to melt—

The moth, in pales green, flutters, descends

From off the moon, its body soft as felt. 

 

The light and darkness, day and night, only seem to clash—

The moon reflects the sunlight to a moonbow made of ash.