I have to stop
when the butterfly comes
illuminating, bright and fluttering;
cheerful and yellow and orange and blue.
Blue that dyes my vision; blue
my favorite, most rare,
Brief butterfly visits last barely seconds.
its sojourn in my present briefly levitating me
And like love, I try to lure its fragile form,
catch my breath to keep it close,
soft as powder wings,
my own trying to mend behind
silent butterfly laughter leaving
me luminously alone.
Beautiful Living Crypt
Plump Crepe Myrtle blossoms
surround me. Butterfly bushes regale
guests of many colors, ambassadors dressed
in their finest, a spectacular display.
Cicadas, unpopular to some, but my favorites
as their etchings announce deep summer’s
sultry seduction. The Hummingbird
appears, a blink, like good days,
then vanishes into brush shade,
in cool darkness, where I too find refuge.
I think the dragonfly knows
perched atop the stalk
rising just above
a chain length fence,
its blue lined, transparent wings still, but it sees me,
my dog lumbering, oblivious, like many,
to its presence. The fragile blue spectator watches carefully,
knows of beauty and danger, as the sun begins its arc
illuminating another day
of beauty and death,
as ancient as the dragonfly’s flight,
but there it sits as I walk past
wishing for tomorrow,
for something new.
© Carmen Eichman