Voracious Verses |
2010-2011 |
Carmen Eichman |
Butterfly 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, like love. Brief butterfly visits last barely seconds. Colors suspended, its sojourn in my present briefly levitating me
from death.
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 |